“Coach, that’s all I’ll do this afternoon, if you don’t mind.”

“Right,” nodded Mr. Luce.  “You don’t want to strain your work before you’ve really begun it any other candidates for pitching want to have a try now?”

As the boys of the squad waited for an answer, a low laugh began to ripple around the gym.  The very idea of any fellow trying after Ripley had made his wonderful showing was wholly funny!

Coach Luce called out the names of another small squad to scatter over the gym. and to throw the ball to anyone he named.  Except for the few who were in this forced work, no attention was paid to the players.

Fred Ripley had walked complacently to one side of the gym.  A noisy, gleeful group formed around him.

“Rip, where did you ever learn that great work?”

“Who taught you?”

“Say, how long have you been hiding that thousand-candle-power light under a bushel?”

“Rip, it was the greatest work I ever saw a boy do.”

“Will you show me—–­after the nine has been made up, of course?”

“How did you ever get it down so slick?”

This was all meat to the boy who had long been unpopular.

“I always was a pretty fair pitcher, wasn’t I?” asked Fred.

“Yes; but never anything like the pitcher you showed us to-day,” glowed eager Parkinson.

“I’ve been doing a good deal of practicing and study since the close of last season,” Fred replied importantly.  “I’ve studied out a lot of new things.  I shan’t show them all, either, until the real season begins.”

Fred’s glance, in roaming around, took in Dick & Co.  For once, these six very popular sophomores had no one else around them.

“Whew!  I think I’ve taken some wind out of the sails of Mr. Self-satisfied Prescott,” Fred told himself jubilantly.  “We shan’t hear so much about Dick & Co. for a few months!”

“Well, anyway, Dick,” said Tom Reade, “you and Dave needn’t feel too badly.  If Ripley turns out to be the nine’s crack pitcher, the nine also carries two relief pitchers.  You and Dave have a chance to be the relief pitchers. That will make the nine for you both, anyway.  But, then, that spitball may be the only thing Ripley knows.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” returned Prescott, shaking his head.  “If Ripley can do that one so much like a veteran, then he knows other styles of tossing, too.  I’m glad for Gridley High School—–­mighty glad.  I wouldn’t mind on personal grounds, either, if only---if-----”

“If Fred Ripley were only a half decent fellow,” Harry Hazelton finished for him.

Coach Luce soon dismissed the squad for the day.  A few minutes later the boys left the gym. in groups.  Of course the pitching they had seen was the sole theme.  Ripley didn’t have to walk away alone to-day.  Coach Luce and a dozen of the boys stepped along with him in great glee.