Chapter VI: Part 6

The next ball, however, was apparently the very one for which the captain of the Burrs had been waiting, for he struck it hard and squarely, and it went far up into the air directly into the territory which Ripley was guarding.

Again a shout of delight was heard from the supporters of the Burrs, but it was hushed in a moment as Ripley took his stand and waited with outstretched hands for the descending ball.

Shackford was speeding on toward the third base, but Ward was unmindful of him. He was watching his supplanter in left field. The ball settled lower and lower; but whether it was because Ripley was highly excited or had misjudged the ball was not known; it struck his hands and bounded out again. The fielder had squarely muffed it.

A groan arose from the Weston boys, and "Hi! yi! yi!" came from many of the friends of the Burrs.

Ward could not lament Ripley's failure, that would have been too much to expect of human nature; but still he turned angrily, as he heard the shouts, and then said to Little Pond: "That's a mean trick! no one ought to applaud his opponents' errors."

"I don't see why not," said Big Smith.

"Because it's no way to do," said Ward. "If you can't win squarely you don't want to win at all. But keep still. Let's see what'll be done now."

Shackford was on third base now, and as he kept dancing about, Tim, who had the ball, threw it to the baseman, but in his eagerness he sent it over his head among the crowd. Shackford ran home, much to the delight of his friends and the chagrin of the Weston boys. The first run had been scored with no one out.

Three more of the Burrs nine crossed the plate before the inning closed, the success of Shackford evidently encouraging his followers even more than the glaring errors of their opponents. When the Weston boys came in to take their turn at the bat their faces were glum and the prospect was far from bright. Tim was the first batter, and got his base on balls.

As Jack Hobart stepped to the plate to follow him, Ward turned to the boys near him and called: "Let's give him a cheer, fellows!"

The cheers rang out, Ward's voice being the loudest of them all. Evidently Jack felt the stimulus, for he sent the ball between left and center fields, and Tim was soon on third, while Jack rested on second. But neither could go any farther. The next two batters struck out, and the third sent up a little fly which Shackford himself easily caught.

"Four to nothing," said Ward as the sides changed. "Not a very bright outlook." But the inning closed without another run being scored.

On the Weston side Henry succeeded in making the circuit of the bases and thus scored the first run for the team. The two succeeding innings failed to add to the score of either side. Both nines were playing desperately, and the interest and excitement of the spectators momentarily increased.

"Four to one," said Ward as the fifth inning was begun.

He had led the cheering in the portion of the crowd where he stood, and in his eagerness for the Weston boys to win, for the time he had almost forgotten his own disappointment. Ripley had struck out each time he had been at the bat, and certainly his success in the field had not been very marked thus far.

Again it was Shackford's turn to bat, and as he advanced to the plate the expression of determination on his face was to be clearly seen. Four to one was certainly no small advantage, and the captain of the Burrs was determined to hold it if such a thing were possible.

Again he waited until two strikes and two balls had been called. The crowd evidently was anxious, but Shackford appeared to be as cool and calm as if nothing were expected from him.

Ward had glanced aside a moment. The suspense of the spectators was interesting if nothing more. He was suddenly recalled by a yell which seemed to have arisen from a thousand throats. Shackford had lifted the ball high into the air, and once more it was coming directly into Ripley's territory.

The eager fielder started after the ball. He was compelled to run back and to Ward it seemed as if the ball were going far over his head. But having gone back as far as was necessary, Ripley turned sharply and ran in. The ball was settling lower and lower now, and just as the fielder stretched forth his hands for it his feet slipped from under him and he fell headlong on the ground, while the ball went rolling far beyond him.

When he had regained his footing and sent the ball in Shackford was once more on third base. A low but pronounced murmur rose from the Weston crowd which could be heard even above the shouts of the Burrs, but in a moment silence was restored, as the next batter took his place and faced Tim. The crack which resounded when he struck the ball could be heard all over the field. As if with design the ball went skipping along the ground after it struck just back of Jack's position as short stop, and went rolling swiftly toward Ripley. The excited lad tried desperately to stop it, but failed, and the ball slipped between his legs and went on far behind him.

The murmurings of the crowd were unmistakable now. "Put him off! Put him out! Hill! Hill! Ward Hill! Put him off! Put him out! Ward Hill!" could be heard on every side.

Ward's heart was beating rapidly, and he tried to draw back out of sight; but for two minutes the cries continued, for boys are merciless in their judgments. At last quiet was in a measure restored and the game went on, but the inning closed with the score six to one against the Weston boys.

Ward could see that a crowd of angry students, chief among whom were Jack and Henry, quickly surrounded Tim and an animated conversation took place, though he could not hear any of the words which were spoken. He was hardly prepared for what followed, however, for after a momentary hesitation Tim started down the lines of the waiting spectators, and as he caught sight of Ward he quickly turned and approached him.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*THE END OF THE GREAT GAME*

"The fellows want you to take Ripley's place," said Tim gruffly.

Ward's heart responded in an instant. The Weston boys were to bat now and the excitement in the crowd was increasing. He longed to have a share in the work which must be done within the four innings yet to be played. It was a marvelous thing too, that Tim should himself come and invite him to return to his place. It was true he was surly, and his countenance betrayed his feelings. The pressure of the nine and the crowd had been too strong for him to resist; and then, doubtless the advantage which the Burr nine had thus far won also had its influence, for no one more earnestly desired to win the game than did Tim Pickard.

Eager as Ward was, he still hesitated a moment. He well knew that Tim's anger would not cease if he should do well; while if he should fail in a time when so much was expected, his position in the school would be all the more trying.

Tim stood waiting before him and did not repeat his request.

In a moment Jack came running toward him, and as he came up, said: "Hurry up, Ward! Never mind the uniform. We won't stop for that. Just throw off your coat and come on. You can afford to spoil a dozen suits rather than let the Burrs win this game!"

Noticing the hesitation of his friend, Jack continued: "Oh, don't pull off now, Ward! all the school wants you. We've just got to have you, and that's all there is to it. Did you ever in your life see such work as Ripley made of it? I don't believe he could stop the moon if it was rolled at him by a baby. Come on, Ward, come on! Tim and I have got to go and bat, and we can't stay any longer. All the fellows want him, don't they, Tim?" he added, turning to the captain of the nine.

"That's what they say," growled Tim, and yet Ward could readily see that he was almost as eager for him to play as Jack was, only he could not bring himself to urge the boy whom he had abused in so many ways and hated with such a genuine hatred.

Just at this juncture Mr. Crane approached and touching Ward lightly upon the shoulder said in a low voice: "I should go in, Hill. You've nothing to lose and much to gain. Remember, you've had your Lexington and the Declaration of Independence and Trenton and Princeton, and now you're at Monmouth. Don't let the British or General Lee baffle you now. Besides, you must think of the school too."

Ward looked at the teacher in as great surprise as did Jack and Tim, and his hesitation was gone. He had no desire to appear unwilling or indifferent, for he certainly was not controlled by either feeling. He longed to enter the game and did not wish to be "coaxed" into it. All his hesitation had arisen from the fear that if he should not do well his position in the school would not be improved, and the enmity of Tim's special friends would only be intensified.

"I'll come in," he said gently, "and do the best I can."

"Good for you, Ward! good for you!" shouted Jack tossing his hat into the air and turning a somersault. "He'll take Ripley's place at the bat then, won't he, Tim?"

"I suppose so," replied Tim.

"Come on then, Ward. Maybe you'll get a chance this inning. Tim, you're next up," he added as he noticed who the batsman was, "and I follow you. We'll have to go now, Ward. Come up and take a seat on the players' bench."

"I'll be around in time," replied Ward quietly.

For several reasons he preferred to retain his place in the crowd for the present, unless his turn to bat should come.

Somehow fortune's wheel turned slightly in favor of the Weston boys, and although Ward's turn to bat did not come, the inning closed with two more runs scored by the nine.

"Six to three," shouted the boys as the players started for their places in the field.

Ward's heart was beating high as he slowly drew off his coat and handed it to Little Pond, who proudly received it, and then he started toward his old place in left field.

His appearance was at once noted by the crowd and received with a cheer. It was true it seemed to be wanting in the volume and heartiness of the old-time applause, but still it did Ward's heart good.

Striving to appear unmindful he looked away from the crowd as the game was now resumed. What had become of Ripley he did not know.

The inning was quickly ended, without a run being scored. Not a ball had come near him, and Ward was not grieved over the fact, for his nerves were in such a highly strung condition that he was fearful he would not have been able to do much had the opportunity presented itself.

He was the second at bat, however, and as he heard his name called he carefully selected his bat and then tried to collect his thoughts and appear calm, though he was far from feeling as he strove to appear.

Shackford, the pitcher of the Burr nine apparently was becoming somewhat nervous, for he gave the first batter his base on balls.

Ward grasped his bat and started resolutely toward the plate. The crowd was silent, but Ward realized how eager his friends were for him to do well. Even a goodly portion of Tim's sneer had disappeared, and Ward could not determine whether his stronger desire was now for the nine to win or for him to fail. The task before the lad, however, quickly banished all other thoughts from his mind. How eager he was and determined to do his best.

"One strike," called the umpire. "Two strikes," he repeated a moment later.

Shackford was doing his utmost to puzzle him and Ward began to fear that he would strike out. The next ball, however, came close in to him and before he could dodge it or step out of its way it struck the handle of his bat and dropped a little ways from the plate. In an instant Ward flung aside his bat and rushed at his swiftest pace for first base, the runner in advance of him of course having started for second.

The excitement and necessity for quick action apparently rattled the Burrs, for both Shackford and the catcher started together for the ball, and as no one called out who was to make the play, the consequence was that they came together in a sharp collision, and were both thrown to the ground.

Before they could recover Ward was safe at first, and the other runner had gained the second base.

Shackford now began to play more deliberately. Every move was carefully timed, and he guarded his nine well. In spite of all the efforts of the Weston boys, and the encouraging shouts of their friends among the spectators, they could succeed in getting but one man around the bases, Ward having been left on third.

"Six to four, and only two more innings to play," said Jack to Ward as they walked together out upon the field to resume their positions. "Not a very brilliant prospect for us."

"We'll not give up before the last man is out," said Ward. "There's nothing more uncertain in all the world than a game of ball, and it's never finished till the end has come."

He had done nothing to warrant any special praise thus far, but he was in high spirits nevertheless. The increasing excitement as the game drew toward its close was manifest among players and spectators alike, and Ward Hill, as we know, was ever one of the quickest to respond to his immediate surroundings.

Again the inning closed without the Burrs being able to score. The utmost they could do was to get a man as far as second base, but there he was left.

"We've got two turns at the bat and they've got one," said Jack, as they came in from the field. "We've got to make three runs to win the game."

The inning opened very promisingly for the Weston boys. Both Tim and Jack made hits, and were on third and second bases respectively. The next two batters were out however, and as they all realized that everything depended upon the efforts of the next man, the crowd followed his movements with almost breathless interest.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and the various feelings of the spectators were at once apparent in their responses. "One ball!" "Two balls!" quickly followed.

Suddenly the crowd rose from their seats and stood leaning forward in intense suspense as they followed the movements of the catcher, who had let the ball which Shackford had pitched somewhat wildly get by him. Tim started quickly from third, and was running as he had never run before. Shackford stood waiting on the plate with outstretched hands for the ball to be thrown by the catcher, who was doing his utmost to get it and return it before Tim could gain the plate. Every player was eagerly watching the movements, and not a sound could be heard from the spectators. Nearer and nearer came Tim, and now the catcher had grasped the rolling ball. With a quick movement he turned and threw it swiftly to Shackford, who caught it just as Tim gained the plate, and running into the player threw both heavily to the ground.

The crowd rushed in from their places eager to learn the decision of the umpire, who had been standing close to the boys as they came together. "He's out!" shouted the umpire as he waved his hand for the spectators to go back to their places. For a moment there was a scene of confusion. In their excitement many of the boys forgot what was expected of them, and the shouts and cheers of the schools were mingled with the groans and cries of those who took different views of the decision which had just been made.

Tim was thoroughly angry, and stood talking loudly with the umpire, claiming that he had cheated him out of a run and the nine from a score which it had justly won.

In a moment, however, several of the boys had surrounded the excited captain, and at last, after much persuasion, induced him to return to his place in the field.

"It was close," said Jack to Ward, "and I think we ought to have had it; but we can't help ourselves, and there's no use in kicking."

The excitement was now intense as the Burrs came to the bat for the last time. The score still stood two in their favor, and even if they did not succeed in adding to it, the advantage was still decidedly on their side. Every movement of the players was cheered now, and the nervous actions of the rival nines betrayed their own desires to win.

Tim Pickard was sending the balls in with a speed he had never had before. If his own exertions could win the game, then surely the Weston boys ought not to lose that day.

The first batsman struck out, and a fierce cheer arose from the Weston contingent as the player flung his bat on the ground and strode back to his place on the bench.

The next was struck by the first ball Tim threw in, and was evidently hurt, but in a moment he pluckily started toward first base, and the cheers of the spectators followed him.

His successor also struck out, and the din which arose was almost deafening. All depended now upon the efforts of the next batter, and the Weston boys' hearts sank when they saw that this was to be Shackford, the heaviest hitter on the opposing nine.

Shackford grasped his bat and stood calmly facing Tim, each realizing that it was now a battle royal. Tim was a trifle wild now, and the fears of his friends increased when the batter hit one or two long fouls that went far down the field, but luckily outside the lines. Again Shackford hit the ball, and sent it with tremendous force down the field directly toward the short stop. Jack made a desperate effort to stop it, but it was going so swiftly that it almost threw him backward, and he dropped the ball. In an instant, however, he recovered himself, and quickly picking up the ball threw it swiftly to the second baseman, who was waiting for it. He caught it just an instant before the runner gained the base, and the umpire shouted, "Out!"

The din on the field now increased. Most of the spectators were standing, and the boys were crowding close in to the lines. Each of the Weston players was cheered by name as he approached the plate and stood facing the calm and collected pitcher of the Burrs.

The first man was out, and a yell of delight arose from the supporters of the Burrs.

The second made a hit, and a louder shout arose from the friends of the Weston nine.

The third batter sent up a high foul, which was easily caught by the third baseman, and the uproar broke out again. Another gained his base, and now two men were out, two were on the bases, and two runs were required to tie the game, and three to win, and it was Ward Hill's turn to bat. Already some of the outer spectators were leaving the grounds, for the game seemed to be practically ended.

"Now do your duty, Ward Hill!" called Jack as Ward grasped his bat and started toward the plate. "Remember everything depends upon you."

Ward made no reply. Was it likely he could fail to realize how much depended upon him? He was dimly conscious of the applause which greeted him. Eager faces seemed to surround him, and the tension was intense.

Shackford brushed back the hair from his wet forehead, glanced coolly about him at the runners on the bases and to see that his own men were all ready, then quickly drew back his arm and sent the ball in swiftly and directly over the plate.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and shrieks and calls resounded from the crowd.

Before Ward could prepare himself Shackford swiftly drew back his arm and sent in another ball.

"Two strikes!" shouted the umpire, and cheers and jeers alike could now be heard. Indeed, many more of the spectators arose to depart, for it seemed to be evident that the end had come. Only one more ball might be necessary.

Shackford sent in the ball again, but this time Ward was ready. He hit it squarely, and with all his force. Only realizing that the ball was going, he started swiftly toward first base. It seemed to him that pandemonium had broken loose behind him. Shrieks, calls, shouts, and cheers were all mingled.

As he touched the first base and started toward second he looked at the ball. He had sent it far out over the center-fielder's head, and not yet had he caught up with it. It was a terrific hit, and all of Ward's long pent up feelings seemed to have found vent in the force with which he had struck. On and on sped the ball, and on and on ran Ward.

Before he had gained the third base both of the runners in advance of him had scored. He touched the third base, and putting forth all his speed started toward home. The applause was deafening now. He was dimly conscious of a mass of waving banners and flags off on his right, and that "Hi! yi! yi!" could be heard on every side.

"Go it, Ward! Go it!" shouted Jack intensely as he ran outside the line to encourage his friend; and Ward was "going it" at his very best.

He bent low and rushed forward. He could hardly breathe now, but his speed did not slacken. On and on he ran, until it seemed to him he never could gain the coveted base.

Putting forth all the last remnant of his strength he obeyed Jack's warning, and throwing himself on the ground touched the base just as a last, loud, prolonged yell came from the crowd.

With his hand on the plate he for the first time glanced behind him. The ball had just been thrown in and Shackford had caught it. The game with the Burrs was won, and Ward Hill's long hit had won it.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*A PUZZLING QUESTION*

Ward at first was only conscious that there was a scene of great excitement being enacted all over the grounds. He had exerted himself to the utmost and breathless and hardly able to stand he dimly realized that a crowd of boys had surrounded him, and that the game was won. Soon, however, he recovered, and with a beaming face looked out upon the actions of his friends. Hats were thrown into the air, shouts and cheers could be heard on every side.

Silence only was to be found among the supporters of the Burrs, and they were already departing from the field. The treble shouts of the girls had ceased, the banners and streamers which had been flung out were nowhere to be seen now, but the very absence of all the signs of cheer among the friends of the opposing nine only served to make more emphatic the frantic joy of the Weston boys.

It was the first game they had won in more than two years from their sturdy opponents, and naturally the long pent up feelings now broke forth with the reserve of the time past.

For a long time the confusion continued. The cries would die away in a measure, and then some enthusiast would lead in a cheer, and the entire school and all its friends would take up the response, and it would seem that all the previous enthusiasm would be redoubled.

Boys who had not spoken to Ward since his return to Weston now rushed forward, eager to do him honor. He was the center of a constantly increasing group, for those who had been foremost to praise him did not depart when others came with their offering.

"Hill, I wish to congratulate you."

Ward turned as he heard the words, and saw Shackford, the captain of the Burrs, standing before him with outstretched hand.

"I want to congratulate you," said Shackford again cordially. "That was a magnificent hit. I never saw a heavier one. Of course I'm sorry we lost the game, and I know that such a hit as that doesn't reflect very much credit upon the pitcher of the Burrs, but all the same, I don't want to be the last to honor the fellow that did it."

"Thank you," said Ward, highly pleased over the cordial expression. "You needn't say a word about the pitcher of the Burrs. I thought when you caught me napping with that second strike of yours that it was good-bye with me. I wanted to hit you," he added laughingly, "but I was afraid I couldn't, so I feel all the better that it has turned out as it has."

"After your work last year, I was surprised when I heard that you were not to play to-day. At first I felt afraid that if you were off the nine, it must be that the Weston boys had found some still better material, and I knew if that were true we had a great contract on our hands. It wasn't long though before I was chuckling because you were not in the game, and I can tell you I didn't rejoice very much when I saw you throw off your coat and start for left field. Still, I hope I'm not so small as not to be able to appreciate a good play even when it's made by the other side, and I must say, Hill, that hit of yours was great. It just won the game, and the Weston school ought to erect a monument in your honor; they ought to, honestly."

Shackford's words served to increase the eagerness of the boys who had crowded about Ward, and much as he enjoyed the novel experience he soon began to feel somewhat abashed. He caught sight of Little Pond looking at him with longing eyes from the border of the assembly, and pushing his way toward him, Ward was soon grasping his youthful admirer by the hand.

"O Ward, I'm so glad," said Little Pond eagerly. "Everybody's praising you."

"Are they?" replied Ward, laughing as he spoke. "Well, I'm glad we won the game."

He started to depart from the grounds now, but a crowd of boys still followed him, all eager to honor the senior who had won the day and saved the honor of the school.

And Ward Hill was happy. His heart was exulting over his success, and the praise of his fellows was doubly sweet to him after his long period of trouble. He knew he had done well, and the consciousness that Tim Pickard at last had been compelled to come to him for aid, was perhaps not the least of the sources of his enjoyment.

As the boys came up to the campus and turned the corner by the chapel, Tim and Ripley stood there talking with some of the Burr boys. They could not fail to perceive Ward in the midst of the crowd, but neither Tim nor Ripley gave any signs of recognition.

Ward turned to Jack and laughed aloud, so loudly that both Tim and Ripley heard him, and a flush of anger spread over their faces.

"Tim would rather have lost the game than have had it won in the way it was," said Ward, as he started to leave Jack and go to his own room.

"Oh, well," replied Jack gleefully, "you can't blame Tim for making a wry face over swallowing his dose; but it may do him good, after all."

"Perhaps so," said Ward dubiously.

In his heart just at that moment he cared but little about Tim Pickard's feelings toward him. In the flush of success and the apparent return of his popularity he could afford to be magnanimous, and Tim and all his petty torments seemed now to be too slight to be heeded.

For two or three days Ward's long hit was the one theme of the school. Not all of the boys, however, joined in singing his praises, for Tim was not without his followers, and his influence was sufficiently strong to hold them back; but the enthusiasm of the others more than atoned for the failures, and Ward Hill was far happier than he had ever been since he became a student in the Weston school.

The consciousness of having done good work in his classes was the main foundation of it all. The appeals of Little Pond, and the manner in which he himself, with Jack's aid, had met and stopped the stacking of his room, also helped him now, and he rejoiced that he had not stooped to retaliate in Tim's room, as he had been sorely tempted to do.

It may be that his success, and the sudden change which had come in his standing in the school, may have led Ward unknowingly to assume a new air. If he did, it was done wholly unconsciously, but in some way he had come to glance sneeringly at Tim whenever he met him. He felt so strong now that he could afford to condescend even to Tim Pickard himself.

One morning, three days after the game, and when the excitement which had followed it had somewhat abated, as Ward, after passing Tim on their way out from Mr. Crane's room, and returning the glance of hatred which the captain of the nine had given him, was recalled by Mr. Crane, he stopped a moment in front of his desk.

"I haven't seen you to speak to you since the game," said Mr. Crane kindly. "I wanted to tell you that I rejoiced in your success, but perhaps you may have heard all the words of that kind that you care to hear."

"Not from you," replied Ward, his face flushing with pleasure.

"What are you reading in your Greek now?" inquired Mr. Crane.

"Homer," said Ward, wondering what that had to do with the game with the Burrs.

"Do you recall the term which Homer applies to Achilles?"

"Yes, 'swift-footed' is one of them."

"And what is the term which is so frequently given the Greek heroes?"

"Why they're called 'well-greaved,' and 'great-souled,' 'great-hearted,' and, and----"

"That's the word I wanted. The great-hearted, great-souled men. There's a Latin word which is almost the equivalent of the term, and the word was such a good one that it has been retained in many languages, and has come down to us in a form but slightly modified. Do you know what the word is?"

Ward hesitated a moment, and then, as his mind always worked rapidly, his face lightened up as he said, "Why, it's the word 'magnanimous,' isn't it?"

"That's the very word. And what does that word literally mean, then?"

"Large-minded."

"That's right. I mustn't detain you any longer or you'll be late for your Greek. Come and see me some time soon, Hill."

Ward went out of the room, but he was somewhat puzzled over his interview with the teacher. What did Mr. Crane mean by asking him those questions? Was he only trying to test his knowledge? Ward knew better than that. Mr. Crane was not one to put idle questions to him, especially at such a time as he had chosen for the brief interview. But what could he mean?

Ward entered the Greek room, but he only partially heard what Dr. Gray was saying to the class. Boy after boy was called upon to recite, but Ward was giving slight heed to what was occurring about him. His thoughts were upon Mr. Crane's strange questions. What could he mean by them? He never assumed that manner, his eyes slightly twinkling as if there was some concealed joke in his mind and his grave, quiet ways being all the more impressive, without having something more than the mere questions in his mind.

The recitation was about half done, when suddenly Ward started up in his seat. His face flushed as he almost spoke aloud.

Jack looked at him in astonishment, but Ward made no reply as he hastily turned again to his book, and apparently was only following the recitation. And yet in a flash it had come to him what Mr. Crane had meant by his questions. At first he felt somewhat resentful, but as his mind ran rapidly over the events of the past few days, he could not conceal from himself the fact that he had given too much justification for the implied rebuke of his teacher.

All through the day his mind kept going back to that brief interview with Mr. Crane, and the recollection was not always a source of pleasure.

That evening a group of boys was assembled in his room, Little Pond, Jack, and Big Smith all being there, as well as Ward and his room-mate. The conversation had been almost entirely on the game with the Burrs, which to them at least, and most of all to Ward, was still a topic of great interest.

"Well," Jack was saying, "we've got this game, thanks to Ward, and even if we lose the return game in the spring we're not so badly off as we might be. The valedic will help us out then too, won't you, Ward?"

"There's no knowing who the valedic will be, I'm thinking. Your friend Luscious is making a pretty strong bid for it, and Little Pond here says his big brother is coming back next week."

"Is that so?" said Jack eagerly, turning to the lad as he spoke. "Is that so? Why I thought he wasn't coming back till after the Christmas vacation."

"He didn't expect to," replied Little Pond; "but it's turned out so that he can come next week, and I'm expecting him next Wednesday."

"That's fine," said Jack enthusiastically. "I tell you, Pond's got the right stuff in him. Now Luscious has had a good influence on me, and I've braced up wonderfully under his valuable example, and if Pond comes back I think I shall make a try of it myself for the valedic. 'Us four, no more,' will be in it then."

The boys laughed at Jack's declaration that he was about to try for the honors of the class, for they all knew that the impulsive boy was not over fond of study, and that the improvement in his class work had been almost entirely due to the efforts which Berry had made in his behalf.

"I don't see why it is," said Big Smith solemnly, "that I don't receive more recognition in the school. I've tried to do my best, and yet I'm left out of everything. It sometimes seems to me that if a fellow is wild, or gets into scrapes and then reforms, there's a good deal more of a time made over him than there is over a fellow who just plods on and never does anything bad at all. I can't understand it."

Ward's face flushed, for it seemed as if Big Smith meant to be personal. Perhaps the recent return of his own popularity was the more marked because of its very contrast with his previous record and position.

An angry reply rose to his lips, but in a moment the interview with Mr. Crane flashed into his mind, and he bit his lips and remained silent. "'Great-hearted,' 'large-minded,'" he thought. "I suppose Mr. Crane was trying to get me to stretch my soul a bit, and I'll try not to be petty and small to-day, anyway."

"Big Smith," said Jack solemnly, rising and moving his right arm up and down after the manner of a pump-handle as he spoke, "there's a great truth in what you say. I've suffered from the effects of it, lo, these seventeen years. I've often thought if I'd fallen into evil ways or joined in a few scrapes, that when the school saw, as the fellows all must see now, the mighty change in me, they'd give me a good deal more credit than they do. But they just take it all for granted, you see, and expect me to do well every time."

"You can laugh all you please," said Big Smith, "but it's true. Now look at Ward. He's been in more scrapes than I, for I never was in one since I came to Weston; but just see how all the fellows, or almost all of them, are talking him up on every side. They never talk in that way about me, and yet I've tried to do right all the time."

The angry word this time almost escaped Ward's lips, but before he could speak Jack quickly replied, and as Ward looked at Big Smith again he was glad he had not spoken. It was evident the big fellow was in "dead earnest," as the boys phrased it, and Ward thought he even saw traces of moisture in his eyes. Surprise overcame his feeling of resentment, and he stopped to listen to Jack, who had resumed his pump-handle gesture.

"The trouble with you, Big Smith, is that you are a prig. It isn't that you don't do wrong that makes the fellows feel toward you as they do. In their hearts there isn't a fellow who doesn't respect the chap who tries to do right, and they wish they were like him too. But you're a regular grandmother, Big Smith. You've been a big fellow in your own town, and when you went away to school you thought you were doing a big thing. Then you come up here and the first thing you do you go to reaching out and patting all the rest of us bad little boys on our heads. You rebuke us; you think we're all on the downward road because we don't do just what you want us to; and then you expect everybody to do for you instead of trying to be of some use to the fellows. Why, from the time last Mountain Day, when you left others to carry the luggage and then when night came took all of Pond's bedquilt to yourself, every fellow in the school thought you were for Big Smith first, last, and all the time."

"But I was cold that night," said Big Smith solemnly.

"And what did you think of Pond? And whose bedquilt did you think that was? Now Pond never was in any scrape, and yet the fellows all take to him. You're never in any scrape, either, but you've got to do more than that, let me tell you. You heard about the man who never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one, didn't you? Well, let me tell you that a fellow has got to have something more than negative goodness to make him count in the Weston school."

The boys looked with wonder at Jack as they heard him speak. It was all so different from his usual manner that not one of them could understand him, and almost in consternation they turned to see how Big Smith was receiving the lesson.

*CHAPTER XIX*

*JACK'S SERMON*

"I don't just know that I understand what you mean," said Big Smith slowly. "Isn't doing right the same as not doing wrong? That's what I've been taught, that a good fellow was one who didn't drink and swear and steal."

"You've got the cart before the horse, my distinguished friend," replied Jack. "A fellow isn't good because he doesn't do those things, but he doesn't do them because he is good. Now I know a place where there are more than a thousand men living all together. They neither drink, swear, nor steal; they don't even fight. Not one of them."

"That must be a fine community, Jack," said Big Smith quickly.

"Well, it isn't. It's one of the toughest places 'in all this broad land of ours,' to quote from Ward's last speech. Not much. I don't think you, even you, Big Smith, would like it there, even with all the virtues I have mentioned, and they're not half of them, let me tell you, either. I could give you a catalogue more than a yard long, just like them."

"I don't see, Jack. I think you must be joking. What's the place?"

"Never was more serious in all my life," replied Jack lightly. "Now listen, and I'll give you the name of the place. It's the State prison."

Big Smith looked blankly at Jack for a moment, while all the other boys present burst into a loud laugh. It was not so much what Jack had said as the expression of amazement which spread over Big Smith's face as he heard the words.

The laughter of the boys continued for several minutes, and at last Big Smith said slowly: "I never in all my life before thought of it in that way, Jack. Up where I live, when they speak of a good boy they always mean one who doesn't do anything bad."

"And right they are," said Jack, with a laugh; "that is, right as far as they go. The only trouble is they don't go far enough. Any old pumpkin out in the field doesn't do any of these things either, but they don't call the pumpkin 'good' on that account, at least as far as I've ever observed. Did you ever go to a circus, Big Smith?"

"I never did."

"Well, that's all right; I'm not telling you you ought to. All I mean is that if you should happen to go some time, just to take the children, you know, of course, you'd probably see a lot of cages there. And the cages would be full of awful beasts. Wild animals, you know. There'd be the hyena, he's a very cheerful bird; and there'd be the rhinoceros, and the elephant, and the tiger, and the mosquito, and the lion, and all sorts of gr-o-w-ling, savage beasts of the field," and Jack's voice became low as if he were trying to imitate the sounds of the animals he named. "Now, Big Smith, if you ever were so naughty as to take the children to see such sights, you'd feel perfectly safe, because not one of those monsters was ever known to devour a man, woman, or even one of the children, for whose sake you probably had gone. You see they're held back by the bars, and they can't do any damage, no matter how tempting your tender flesh might appear to be. But, Big Smith, honestly, you wouldn't feel any warmer toward the gentle hyena, or the mild and smiling tiger, would you? or think it any safer to leave those tender little infants you had gotten together, and for whose sake alone you had gone to the circus--I mean just to see the animals, of course--there in the tent, if the bars were all taken away, although not one of those animals had ever done any damage to any man?"

"I--I--don't just see the point," said Big Smith, somewhat bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Alas! alas!" said Jack in mock despair. "Well, what I mean is just this. You don't trust a lion or a tiger in the menagerie because he hasn't done any harm. So you don't always take to a fellow just because he's never done anything very bad, either. He may be held back, he may be afraid, he may not know anything about the bad, and so not do it because he doesn't know enough to do it. Now, Ned Butler, who graduated last year, you know, or Little Puddle's big brother, why either or both of those fellows just gripped the whole school, you see. They never were in any of the mean things, but there was something besides that. They tried not only not to do wrong, but they also tried to do right. Every fellow in the school knew that both of those boys were just doing their level best to do the square thing every time, as well as keep out of the mean things. It wasn't half so much what they did not do as what they did do that counted, let me tell you. They had good, red blood in their veins every time, and the boys knew and felt it too, but it seemed just as if they used every ounce of muscle they had to do something. They weren't thinking of the things they didn't do."

"I--I--think I'm beginning to see what you mean," said Big Smith quietly.

"I'm mighty glad you are able to see the point once in your life," said Jack good-naturedly.

"You'd better be glad," interrupted Ward, who sympathized somewhat with Big Smith in his manifest trouble, "you'd better be glad that you were able to make the point plain enough to be seen for once in your life, Jack, as I've told you so many times lately."

The lad laughed heartily, for he was one of the few boys who was willing to receive as well as give the bantering of the school.

Turning again to Big Smith, and noting the unusual seriousness of his manner he said, in a far more gentle tone than he had before used, "Honestly, Big Smith, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You started the thing you know, and asked me what I thought was the reason you didn't stand better with the fellows, and I told you just what I thought. It was none of my business, and I ought not to have done it. Who am I to preach to you? I'm one of those who do just exactly the opposite of the very thing I've been urging on you, for I leave undone those things which I ought to have done, and do the things which I ought not to do. Forgive me if I've said what I ought not to have said," and Jack, in his impulsive way, stretched forth his hand.

Big Smith took it, but made no reply, and in a few moments slipped quietly out of the room.

As soon as he was gone Jack began to upbraid himself for the words he had spoken, and in a brief time he too departed. None of the boys ever knew of the visit he immediately made in Big Smith's room, nor did they ever hear of the long conversation between the two boys which followed.

It was soon evident, however, that a change of some kind was coming over Big Smith. Many of his ways were greatly modified, and his devotion to Jack Hobart became as marked as it was strange.

None of the boys, however, thought very much of the matter, for Jack was universally popular, and no one could long retain a grudge against him, and to that fact was probably attributed the new departure in the case of Big Smith.

Pond returned to the school on the following week, and great was the rejoicing among his friends. The boy had but little money, and while in his calm, quiet way he never concealed the fact nor hesitated to give it as a reason for not entering into many of the projects of his companions, he never obtruded it nor referred to his poverty as if he gloried in it. He was one of the most popular boys in the Weston school, thoroughly respected and warmly loved for his genuine manliness.

He had continued his studies during his absence, and had been able to keep well up with his class, and as soon as he returned Ward at once perceived that Pond was determined to retain the laurels he had won in the preceding year if hard work would accomplish it.

It soon became manifest that the struggle for the first place in the class lay between Ward, Pond, and Berry, but the three boys lost none of their regard for one another in the contest.

Ward learned more easily than either of the other two, but he lacked the steady, dogged, even ways of Pond. There were occasions when he was strongly tempted to neglect his work, and indeed did even neglect it, but not for a long time. He had been taught a severe lesson, and with the higher impulses now in his heart, and the longing to carry home to his father a report which he was well aware would give him higher pleasure than anything else he could do for him, he held himself well to his work in the main, and was recognized as one of the leaders in his class.

In the even lines of the school work there came many pleasant breaks. On Mountain Day the summit of the great hill was climbed as it had been in the preceding year by the most of the boys of the Weston school, and many of the experiences which have already been recorded were repeated.

The party of friends, with Little Pond and Big Smith occasionally added, tramped over the hills in quest of chestnuts, and never failed to return with a goodly store. On the brief half-holidays, until the snow came, they would take their luncheons and start forth to explore some of the beauties of the region in which Weston lay, and the hills would echo and re-echo with the sounds of healthful boyish shouts and laughter, the best sounds in all this world.

Ward Hill was happy. The past seldom rose before him now, or if it did come for a moment and awaken a sharp pang, it was soon put aside as the consciousness of the efforts he was then making came to take its place. And Ward was working faithfully. He was doing so much more and so much better than ever he had done before, that it seemed to him as if he was working intensely. He had yet to learn some of the necessities and possibilities in that line.

The enmity of Tim Pickard and the "Tangs" still continued, but for the most part it was expressed in sneers and attempted slights rather than by any open manifestations; but Ward felt that he could endure all that easily now in the knowledge he had of the regard with which most of the boys looked up to him since the day of the great game with the Burrs. And then too, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was not neglecting his work, and that results were already becoming more and more plain.

Once, it is true, his room was "stacked" again, when he had carelessly left the door unlocked, but he did not care so much for that as he did that Pond's room was also upset on the same day. Coming up the stairs together they discovered two of the younger boys at work in very midst of the mischief. They administered a sound "seniorly" spanking, and made the little fellows confess that Tim Pickard had told them to do what they were doing.

As soon as the chastening and some good advice had been given, Pond insisted upon going at once to Tim's room and "having it out with him" as he expressed it. Nothing loth, Ward assented, and the two boys at once went down to Mrs. Perrins' and found Tim by chance in his room.

The presence of his visitors evidently confused the lad at first, but soon assuming a bold manner he listened to what Pond had to say.

"We've come down here to tell you, Tim, that you're not to set any more of the little fellows up to stacking our rooms again."

"I haven't stacked your rooms," said Tim boldly.

"I'm not talking about that," said Pond, speaking in a quiet manner, frequently deceiving to those who were not well acquainted with him. He was seldom angry, but his very quietness gave the impression that it would not be wise to push him unduly. "I'm not talking about that," repeated Pond. "All I said was that you were not to set any more of the little fellows up to such tricks as stacking our rooms."

"Have the little imps gone and squealed? I'll fix----"