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The crowd lifted itself with a solid roar, and when Homans caught the hit near the foul flag, subsided with a long groan. Ken set his teeth. He knew he was not right, but did any one else know it? He was getting magnificent support and luck was still with him. "Over the pan, Peg! Don't waste one!" floated from Reddy, warningly. Then Ken felt sure that Reddy had seen or divined his panic.
Worry sparkled like flint. Homans, for once not phlegmatic, faced the coaching line at third. Raymond leaned pale and still against the bench. Ken was radiant. Reddy Ray bent over the row of bats and singled out his own. His strong, freckled hands clenched the bat and whipped it through the air. His eyes were on fire when he looked at the stricken Raymond.
The next two pitches were wide; the following one Reddy met with the short poke he used when hitting to left field. The ball went over Martin's head, scoring Homans with the first run of the game. That allowed the confident Wayne crowd to get up and yell long and loud. Weir fouled out upon the first ball pitched, and Blake, following him, forced Reddy out at second on an infield hit.
I'd like to see the guy who can beat me out of my place next season." This brought another hearty cheer. Further questioning made clear that all the varsity except Homans, Blake, and McCord would surely return to college. "Fine! Fine! Fine!" exclaimed Worry.
Graves had lost his smile and wore an expression of sickly surprise. The third ball travelled by him and cracked in Dean's mitt, and Arthurs called it a strike. "Easy there that'll do!" yelled the coach. "Come in here, Peg. Out on the field now, boys." Homans stopped Ken as they were passing each other, and Ken felt himself under the scrutiny of clear gray eyes.
Banneker? No. Why should I?" "You published some of my things in the Sunday edition, lately. From Manzanita, California." "No. I don't think so. Mr. Homans." A graying man with the gait of a marionnette and the precise expression of a rocking-horse, who had just entered, crossed over. "Have we sent out any checks to a Mr. Banneker recently, in California?"
With his just and keen perception, he judged them not to be magazine matter. But they might do as "Sunday stuff." He turned in half a dozen of them to Mr. Homans. When next he saw them they were lying, in uncorrected proof, on the managing editor's desk while Mr. Gordon gently rapped his knuckles over them. "Where did you get the idea for these, Mr. Banneker?" he asked. "I don't know.
Phil King, Princeton's quarterback, was so amazed at the performance that he was too spellbound to tackle his comrade. Down the backfield the player sped towards his own goal. Shep Homans, his fullback, took in the impending catastrophe at a glance and dashed forward, laid the halfback low with a sharp tackle, thereby preventing a safety.
But the night before the team left, the students, four thousand strong, went to the training-house and filled a half-hour with college songs and cheers. Next morning Dale and Stevens, heading a small band of Wayne athletes and graduates, met the team at the railroad station and boarded the train with them. Worry and Homans welcomed them, and soon every Wayne player had two or more for company.
"Worry, we won't stand for that," spoke up Reddy Ray. His smooth, cool voice was like oil on troubled waters. "I think Homans and I can answer for the kids from now on. Graves was a disorganizer that's the least I'll say of him. We'll elect Homans captain of the team, and then we'll cut loose like a lot of demons.
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