For several days nothing else was talked about by the students. Whenever Dale or his players appeared at Carlton Hall they were at once surrounded by a sympathetic crowd. If it was a bitter blow to the undergraduates, what was it to the members of the varsity? Their feeling showed in pale, stern faces. It was reported about the campus that Murray and Arthurs and Dale, with the whole team, went to the directors of the athletic faculty and besought them to change or modify the decision. Both the trainer and the coach, who had brought such glory to the university, threatened to resign their places. The disgrace of a pitiably weak team of freshmen being annihilated by minor colleges was eloquently put before the directors. But the decision was final.
One evening early in February Worry Arthurs called upon Ken. His face was long, and his mustache drooped.
“Kid, what do you think of 'em fat-heads on the faculty queerin' my team?” he asked. “Best team I ever developed. Say, but the way they could work the hit-and-run game! Any man on the team could hit to right field when there was a runner goin' down from first.”
“Maybe things will turn out all right,” suggested Ken, hopefully.
Worry regarded his youthful sympathizer with scorn.
“It takes two years to teach most college kids the rudiments of baseball. Look at this year's schedule.” Worry produced a card and waved it at Ken. “The hardest schedule Wayne ever had! And I've got to play a kid team.”
Ken was afraid to utter any more of his hopes, and indeed he felt them to be visionary.
“The call for candidates goes out to-morrow,” went on the coach. “I'll bet there'll be a mob at the cage. Every fool kid in the university will think he's sure of a place. Now, Ward, what have you played?”
“Everywhere; but infield mostly.”
“Every kid has played the whole game. What position have you played most?”