t as it had always in those throwing contests
where he had so easily won. He seemed to decide from McCord's position
at the plate what to throw him.

Ken took his swing. It was slow, easy, natural. But the ball travelled
with much greater speed than the batter expected from such motion. McCord
let the first two balls go by, and Arthurs called them both strikes. Then
Ken pitched an out-curve which McCord fanned at helplessly. Arthurs sent
Trace up next. Ken saw that the coach was sending up the weaker hitters
first. Trace could not even make a foul. Raymond was third up, and Ken
had to smile at the scowling second-baseman. Remembering his weakness
for pulling away from the plate, Ken threw Raymond two fast curves on
the outside, and then a slow wide curve, far out. Raymond could not have
hit the first two with a paddle, and the third lured him irresistibly
out of position and made him look ridiculous. He slammed his bat down
and slouched to the bench. Duncan turned out to be the next easy victim.
Four batters had not so much as fouled Ken. And Ken knew he was holding
himself in--that, in fact, he had not let out half his speed. Blake, the
next player, hit up a little fly that Ken caught, and Schoonover made
the fifth man to strike out.

Then Weir stood over the plate, and he was a short, sturdy batter, hard
to pitch to. He looked as if he might be able to hit any kind of a ball.
Ken tried him first with a straight fast one over the middle of the plate.
Weir hit it hard, but it went foul. And through Ken's mind flashed the
thought that he would pitch no more speed to Weir or players who swung
as he did. Accordingly Ken tried the slow curve that had baffled Raymond.
Weir popped it up and retired in disgust.

The following batter was Graves, who strode up smiling, confident,
sarcastic, as if he knew he could do more than the others. Ken imagined
what the third-baseman would have said if the coach had not been present.
Graves always ruffled Ken the wrong way.

"I'll strike him out if I break my arm!" muttered Ken to himself. He
faced Graves deliberately and eyed his position at bat. Graves as
deliberately laughed at him.

"Pitch up, pitch up!" he called out.

"Right over the pan!" retorted Ken, as quick as an echo. He went hot as
fire all over. This fellow Graves had some strange power of infuriating
him.

Ken took a different swing, which got more of his weight in motion, and
let his arm out. Like a white bullet the