“You wild freshman! If you hit me!” he cried.
Ken Ward had not fallen in love with any of his rivals for places on the team, but he especially did not like Graves. He did not stop to consider the reason of it at the moment, still he remembered several tricks Graves had played, and he was not altogether sorry for the coach's order. Swinging a little harder, Ken threw straight at Graves.
“Wham!” The ball struck him fair on the hip. Limping away from the plate he shook his fist at Ken.
“Batter up!” yelled Arthurs. “A little more speed now, Peg. You see it ain't nothin' to get hit. Why, that's in the game. It don't hurt much. I never cared when I used to get hit. Batter up!”
Ken sent up a very fast ball, on the outside of the plate. The batter swung wide, and the ball, tipping the bat, glanced to one side and struck Arthurs in the stomach with a deep sound.
Arthurs' round face went red; he gurgled and gasped for breath; he was sinking to his knees when the yelling and crowing of the students on the platform straightened him up. He walked about a few minutes, then ordered sliding practice.
The sliding-board was brought out. It was almost four feet wide and twenty long and covered with carpet.
“Run hard, boys, and don't let up just before you slide. Keep your speed and dive. Now at it!”
A line of players formed down the cage. The first one dashed forward and plunged at the board, hitting it with a bang. The carpet was slippery and he slid off and rolled in the dust. The second player leaped forward and, sliding too soon, barely reached the board. One by one the others followed.
“Run fast now!” yelled the coach. “Don't flinch.... Go down hard and slide... light on your hands... keep your heads up... slide!”