Ward Hill, the Senior

by Everett T. Tomlinson

"Yes," replied Ward quietly.

"All right; play 'short' then, will you?"

As Ward threw aside his coat and walked out upon the field to take the position assigned him, he was conscious that many of the boys who had assembled to watch the nine at its practice were talking of him. His face burned, but he tried hard not to appear aware of the curiosity which his appearance on the field had aroused. The sneer on Tim Pickard's face was the hardest for him to bear; and when he overheard the words which Tim uttered, evidently intended for Ward's special benefit, about "sneaks" and "trying to curry favor and crawl back on the team," he was sorely tempted to leave the field instantly.

But catching a meaning look just then from Jack, he resolutely ignored all that he had heard and seen, and well aware that Tim would be highly delighted even then to have him abandon the game, he tried hard to give his entire attention to the work before him.

It was the first game in which Ward had played since he had come back to Weston and he felt sadly his lack of practice. But endeavoring to make up by his efforts what he lacked in practice, he succeeded beyond his hopes in acquitting himself creditably. He handled the ball quickly and threw with all his old-time swiftness.

Indeed, he thought more than once of that long throw of his in the game with the Burrs in the preceding year, which had saved the game and won for him the wild applause of his fellows. The recollection served to intensify the difficulties of his present position. How sadly had it all been changed since the preceding year! He was, however, too busy in the game to dwell long upon the misery which the thought produced.

When it came to be his turn to bat and he stood facing Tim, who was the pitcher of the Weston nine, he could easily perceive the expression of hatred upon his face. Tim exerted himself to the utmost and sent in the ball with all the speed and curves he could summon. Perhaps his manifest desire to place Ward at a disadvantage served to rouse the latter all the more. At any rate he stood calmly facing Tim, apparently unmoved by all his efforts to annoy him.

It became evident to others as well as to Ward that Tim in his anger was trying to hit him with the ball. He sent in two or three at his swiftest speed and Ward had all he could do to dodge them successfully.

"Oh, hold on, Tim!" called Jack in a low voice from his position at short stop. "What are you trying to do? You want to remember that we're not alone here."

Somehow Jack always seemed to have a strange influence over the captain of the nine, an influence which no other exerted, or even tried to use. And the effect of the words became at once apparent as Tim's speed slackened and the next ball came in directly over the plate.