Once in the eighth inning Ken became aware that Worry was punching him in the back and muttering:
“Look out, Peg! Listen! Murphy'll get one in Reddy's groove this time.... Oh-h!”
The crack of the ball, as well as Worry's yell, told Ken what had happened. Besides, he could see, and as the ball lined away for the fence, and the sprinter leaped into action, Ken jumped up and screamed:
“Oh, Reddy, it's over—over! No! Run! Run! Oh-h-h!”
In the shrill, piercing strife of sound Ken's scream seemed only a breath at his ears. He held to it, almost splitting his throat, while the sprinter twinkled round third base and came home like a thunderbolt.
Another inning passed, a confusion of hits, throws, runs, and plays to Ken, and then Worry was pounding him again.
“Dig for the trainin'-house!” yelled Worry, mouth on his ear. “The students are crazy! They'll eat us alive! They're tearin' the bleachers down! Run for it, Peg!”
A Matter of Principle
Ken found himself running across Grant Field, pursued by a happy, roaring mob of students. They might have been Indians, judging from the way Ken and his fellow-players fled before them. The trained athletes distanced their well-meaning but violent pursuers and gained the gate, but it was a close shave. The boys bounded up the street into the training-house and locked the door till the puffing Arthurs arrived. They let him in and locked the door again.