“It’s Rip!  Old Rip will be the most talked about fellow in any High School league this year,” Parkinson declared, enthusiastically.

Even the fellows who actually despised Fred couldn’t help their jubilation.  Gridley was strong in athletics just because of the real old Gridley High School spirit.  Gridley’s boys always played to win.  They made heroes of the fellows who could lead them to victory after victory.

Fred was far on his way home ere the last boy had left him.

“I’ll get everything in sight now,” Ripley told himself, in ecstasy, as he turned in at the gateway to his home.  “Why, even if Prescott does get into the relief box, I can decide when he shall or shall not pitch.  I’ll never see him get a big game to pitch in.  Oh, but this blow to-day has hurt Dick Prescott worse than a blow over the head with an iron stake could.  I’ve wiped him up and put him down again.  I’ve made him feel sick and ashamed of his puny little inshoot!  Prescott, you’re mine to do as I please with on this year’s nine—–­if you can make it at all!”

In truth, though young Prescott kept a smiling face, and talked cheerily, he could hardly have been more cast down than he was.  Dick always went into any sport to win and lead, and he had set his heart on being Gridley’s best man in the box.  But now-----

Dick & Co. all felt that they needed the open air after the grilling and the surprise at the gym.  So they strolled, together, on Main Street, for nearly an hour ere they parted and went home to supper.

The next day the talk at school was mostly about Ripley, or “Rip,” as he was now more intimately called.

Even the girls took more notice of him.  Formerly Fred hadn’t been widely popular among them.  But now, as the coming star of the High School nine, and a new wonder in the school firmament, he had a new interest for them.

Half the girls, or more, were “sincere fans” at the ball games.  Baseball was so much of a craze among them that these girls didn’t have to ask about the points of the game.  They knew the diamond and most of its rules.

Incense was sweet to the boy to whom it had so long been denied, but of course it turned “Rip’s” head.

CHAPTER XI

THE THIRD PARTY’S AMAZEMENT

Eleven o’clock pealed out from the steeple of the nearest church.

The night was dark.  Rain or snow was in the air.

In a shadow across the street hung Tip Scammon.  His shabby cap was pulled down over his eyes, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his ragged reefer.  Tip’s eyes were turned toward the Ripley home opposite.

“To think o’ that feller in a fine, warm, soft bed nights, an’ all the swell stuff to eat at table!” muttered Tip, enviously.  “And then me, out in the cold, wearing a tramp’s clothes!  Never sure whether to-morrer has a meal comin’ with it!  But, anyway, I can make that Ripley kid dance when I pull the string!  He dances pretty tolerable frequent, too!  He’s got to do it to-night, an’ he’d better hurry up some!”