holes in the fence, and to these he gave his
remaining tickets. Not so long ago, he had been just such a youngster
himself, and he had an abounding sympathy for those who possessed the
keenest capacity for enjoyment, but were excluded without just reason.

The game was typical of such contests between schools of the kind in all
except the performance of Gus in the box. That youth, always smiling,
never self-conscious enough even to acknowledge the plaudits meant for
him, not only pitched with professional skill, but in his every movement
showed a grace which demanded attention.

From the first inning the result was a foregone conclusion. The home
team held the visitors to no runs and went to bat with the utmost
confidence, only to be retired, one, two, three, on strikes. They shut
the visitors out again, and two of them got on bases to remain there and
die. They let Siebold come home on Wilde's fly and errors and were again
fanned.

They repeated this, with little Kerry at bat and only one of them made a
hit, the ball lodging in the pitcher's extended hand. They fought hard
and retired the Techs for three more innings, meeting the same fate
themselves. Then their pitcher weakened and the team went to pieces,
with three men on bases, and Wilde let them all come home on a long
grounder, but himself died on second, with two others out on strikes.

They went to pieces again when Sadler knocked a fly over the fence and
made a home run, or rather a home walk, and they again were retired in
rapid succession. Score, six to nothing, and the Marshallton crowd,
including the dignified president of Tech, the instructors to a man, the
Farrells and a lot of other sympathizers yelled their throats sore, a
bunch of fans going for Gus, hoisting him on high and marching around
with him, singing a school chantey:

"He's the stuff,
He treats 'em rough,
He gives 'em easily more than enough.
He's awful tough
He is no bluff,
He made 'em look like a powder puff.
He's fast and quick,
They couldn't handle ball or stick.
He's winning Dick,
They got his kick,
They think they're slaughtered with a brick!"

And so on for half a dozen or so silly verses of the kind, Gus,
meanwhile, suffering both physically and mentally, for being thus tossed
about is by no means comfortable, and his modesty was suc