“Well, what of it?” demanded the coach. “I looked him up to-night. He's got a great arm, and will be good material for the team. He told me about the little scrap you had in the lecture-room. He lost his temper, and no wonder. Anyway, he's sorry, Cap, and I fetched him around to see if you couldn't make it up. How about it, Kid?”
“I'm sorry—awfully sorry, Captain Dale,” blurted out Ken. “I was mad and scared, too—then you fellows hurt me. So I hit right out.... But I'll take my medicine.”
“So—oh!” ejaculated Dale. “Well, this beats the deuce! That's why you're here?”
The door opened wide to admit half a dozen eager-faced youths.
“Fellows, here's a surprise,” said Dale. “Young Ward, the freshman! the elusive slugging freshman, fast on his feet, and, as Worry here says, a lad with a great arm!”
“Ward!” roared the Sophs in unison.
“Hold on, fellows—wait—no rough-house yet—wait,” ordered Dale. “Ward's here of his own free will!”
Silence ensued after the captain spoke. While he turned to lock the door the Sophs stared open-mouthed at Ken. Arthurs had a worried look, and he kept his hand on Ken. Dale went to a table and began filling his pipe. Then he fixed sharp, thoughtful eyes upon his visitors.
“Worry, you say you brought this freshman here to talk baseball?” he asked.
“Sure I did,” blustered Arthurs. It was plain now where he got the name that Dale called him. “What's in the wind, anyhow?”