The Herne Game
On the morning of the first of June, the day scheduled for the opening game with Herne, Worry Arthurs had Ken Ward closeted with Homans and Reddy Ray. Worry was trying his best to be soberly calculating in regard to the outcome of the game. He was always trying to impress Ken with the uncertainty of baseball. But a much younger and less observing boy than Ken could have seen through the coach. Worry was dead sure of the result, certain that the day would see a great gathering of Wayne students, and he could not hide his happiness. And the more he betrayed himself the more he growled at Ken.
“Well, we ain't goin' to have that balloon-ascension to-day, are we?” he demanded. “Here we've got down to the big games, and you haven't been up in the air yet. I tell you it ain't right.”
“But, Worry, I couldn't go off my head and get rattled just to please you, could I?” implored Ken. To Ken this strain of the coach's had grown to be as serious as it was funny.
“Aw! talk sense,” said Worry. “Why, you haven't pitched to a college crowd yet. Wait! Wait till you see that crowd over to Place next week! Thousands of students crazier 'n Indians, and a flock of girls that'll make you bite your tongue off. Ten thousand yellin' all at once.”
“Let them yell,” replied Ken; “I'm aching to pitch before a crowd. It has been pretty lonesome at Grant Field all season.”
“Let 'em yell, eh?” retorted Worry. “All right, my boy, it's comin' to you. And if you lose your nut and get slammed all over the lot, don't come to me for sympathy.”
“I wouldn't. I can take a licking. Why, Worry, you talk as if—as if I'd done something terrible. What's the matter with me? I've done every single thing you wanted—just as well as I could do it. What are you afraid of?”
“You're gettin' swelled on yourself,” said the coach, deliberately.