Ward Hill, the Senior

by Everett T. Tomlinson

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."