“So you think you can pitch, Prescott?” he muttered to himself.  “Humph!  With the great Everett training me for weeks, I’ll make you look like a pewter monkey, Dick Prescott.”

CHAPTER VII

DAVE TALKS WITH ONE HAND

The next afternoon Fred and his father went over to Duxbridge.

They found the great Everett at home, and not only at home, but willing to take up with their proposal.

The celebrated professional pitcher named a price that caused Lawyer Ripley to hesitate for a few moments.  Then catching the appealing look in his son’s face, the elder Ripley agreed to the terms.  The training was to be given at Duxbridge, in Everett’s big and almost empty barn.

That night Lawyer Ripley, a man of prompt habit in business, mailed his check for the entire amount.

Fred, in the privacy of his own room, danced several brief but exuberant jigs.

“Now, I’ve got you, Dick Prescott!  And I’ve not only got you, but if you come in second to me, I’ll try to keep in such condition that I pitch every important game of the whole season!”

But the next morning the Ripley heir received a sad jolt.  In one of his text-books he ran across a piece of cardboard on which was printed, in coarse characters: 

“Tuday, same plas, same time.  Bring ten.  Or don’t, if you dare!”

“That infernal blackmailer, Tip Scammon!” flared Fred indignantly.

In the courage of desperation Fred promptly decided that he would ignore the Scammon rascal.  Nor did Fred change his mind.  Besides, this afternoon he was due at Duxbridge for his first lesson under the mighty Everett.

So Tip was on hand at the drug store beside the post office, but no Fred came.  Tip scowled and hung about in the neighborhood until after four o’clock.  Then he went away, a black look indeed on his not handsome face.

Meanwhile, most of the people of Gridley, as elsewhere in the Christian world, were thinking of “Peace on Earth” and all that goes with it.  The stores were radiant with decorations and the display of gifts.  The candy stores and hot soda places were doing a rushing business.

Dick, who had been scurrying about in search of a few news paragraphs, and had found them, encountered Dave Darrin.  Being something of a capitalist in these days, when “The Blade” was paying him two and a half to three dollars a week, Prescott invited his chum in to have a hot soda.  While they were still in the place Laura Bentley and Belle Meade entered.  The High School boys lifted their hats courteously to the girls and Dick invited them to have their soda with Dave and himself.

“We hear that baseball is going to be a matter of great enthusiasm during the next few months,” said Laura, as they sipped their soda.

“Yes; and the cause of no end of heartburnings and envies,” laughed Prescott.  “From just after the holidays to some time in April every fellow will be busy trying to make the school team, and will feel aggrieved if he hits only the second team.”