have something
to cheer for!"

The crafty sprinter knew how to appeal to the students. All of voice
and strength and enthusiasm left in them went up in a mighty bawl
that rattled the windows and shook the house. They finished with
nine "_Waynes!_" and a long, rousing "_Peggie Ward!_" and then they
went away.

"By George! look here, Peg," said Reddy, earnestly, "they gave you
Wayne's Nine! _Wayne's Nine!_ Do you hear? I never knew a freshman
varsity man to get that cheer."

"You've got to beat Place now, after tellin' 'em you'd do it,"
added Worry.

"But, Worry, I didn't say a word--it was Reddy," replied Ken,
in distress.

"Same thing," rejoined the coach. "Now, boys, let's quiet down and
talk over the game. I won't waste any time jollyin' you. I couldn't
praise you enough if I spent the rest of the season tryin' to. One
and all, by yourselves and in a bunch, you played Herne off their
feet. I'll bet MacNeff and Prince are dizzy figurin' what'll happen
Saturday week. As to the score, why, scores don't mean much to us--"

"What was the score, anyway?" asked Ken.

The boys greeted this with shouts of doubtful laughter, and Worry
glanced with disapproval at his star.

"Peg, you keep me guessin' a lot. But not to know how much we beat
Herne would be more 'n I could stand. On the level, now, don't you
know the score?"

"Fair and square, I don't, Worry. You never would let me think of
how many runs we had or needed. I can count seven--yes, and one more,
that was Reddy's home-run."

"Peg, you must have been up in the air a little; 14 to 4, that's it.
And we didn't take our bat in the last of the ninth."

Then followed Worry's critical account of the game, and a discussion
in which the boys went over certain plays. During the evening many
visitors called, but did not gain admission. The next morning, however,
Worry himself brought in the newspapers, which heretofore he had
forbidden the players to read, and he told them they were now free
to have any callers or to go where they liked. There was a merry
scramble for the papers, and presently the reading-room was as quiet
as a church.

The account that held Ken Ward in rapt perusal was the _Morning
Times-Star's_. At first the print blurred in Ken's sight. Then he
read it over again. He liked the glowing praise given the team,
and was shamefully conscious of the delight in his name in large
letters. A third time he read it, guiltily this time, for he did
not dr