“With Dale's team it might not have been so bad,” thought Ken. “But it's different with us. We've got to make up in spirit what we lack in ability.”
Weir and McCord occupied the room next to Ken's, and Graves and Trace, rooming together, were also on that floor. Ken had tried with all his might to feel friendly toward the third-baseman. He had caught Graves carrying cake and pie to his room and smoking cigarettes with the window open. One night Graves took cigarettes from his pocket and offered them to Kel, Trace, and Ken, who all happened to be in Ken's room at the time. Trace readily accepted; Kel demurred at first, but finally took one. Graves then tossed the pack to Ken.
“No, I don't smoke. Besides, it's breaking training,” said Ken.
“You make me sick, Ward,” retorted Graves. “You're a wet blanket. Do you think we're going to be as sissy as that? It's hard enough to stand the grub we get here, without giving up a little smoke.”
Ken made no reply, but he found it difficult to smother a hot riot in his breast. When the other boys had gone to their rooms Ken took Kel to task about his wrong-doing.
“Do you think that's the right sort of thing? What would Worry say?”
“Ken, I don't care about it, not a bit,” replied Kel, flinging his cigarette out of the window. “But Graves is always asking me to do things—I hate to refuse. It seems so—”
“Kel, if Worry finds it out you'll lose your place on the team.”
“No!” exclaimed Raymond, staring.
“Mark what I say. I wish you'd stop letting Graves coax you into things.”