r
of it. Watching so closely, Ken had forced home to him Arthurs' repeated
assertion that control of the ball made a pitcher. Both pitchers in this
game were wild. Locating the plate with them was more a matter of luck
than ability. The Herne pitcher kept wasting balls and getting himself
in the hole, and then the heavy Georgetown players would know when he
had to throw a strike, if he could, and accordingly they hit hard.
They beat Herne badly.

The next day in the game with Place it was a different story. Ken
realized he was watching a great team. They reminded him of Dale's
varsity, though they did not play that fiendish right-field-hitting
game. Ken had a numbness come over him at the idea of facing this
Place team. It soon passed, for they had their vulnerable places.
It was not so much that they hit hard on speed and curves, for they
got them where they wanted them. Keene flied out on high fast balls
over the inside corner; Starke bit on low drops; Martin was weak on
a slow ball; MacNeff, the captain, could not touch speed under his
chin, and he always struck at it. On the other hand, he killed a low
ball. Prince was the only man who, in Ken's judgment, seemed to have
no weakness. These men represented the batting strength of Place, and
Ken, though he did not in the least underestimate them, had no fear.
He would have liked to pitch against them right there.

"It's all in control of the ball," thought Ken. "Here are seventeen
bases on balls in two games--four pitchers. They're wild.... But
suppose I got wild, too?"

The idea made Ken shiver.

He travelled all night, sleeping on the train, and got home to the
training-house about nine the next morning. Worry was out, Scotty said,
and the boys had all gone over to college. Ken went up-stairs and found
Raymond in bed.

"Why, Kel, what's the matter?" asked Ken.

"I'm sick," replied Kel. He was pale and appeared to be in distress.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Can't I do something? Get you some medicine? Call Murray?"

"Ken, don't call anybody, unless you want to see me disgraced. Worry
got out this morning before he noticed my absence from breakfast. I was
scared to death."

"Scared? Disgraced?"

"Ken, I drank a little last night. It always makes me sick. You know
I've a weak stomach."

"Kel, you didn't drink, _say_ you didn't!" implored Ken, sitting
miserably down on the bed.

"Yes, I did. I believe I was half drunk. I can't stand anything.
I'm sick, sick of myse