“Oh, shut up!” grated Fred, harshly, turning upon his rival.  “Mr. Luce, I throw down the team as far as I’m concerned.  I won’t pitch as an inferior to these two boobies.  Scratch my name off.”

“I’ll give you a day or two, Mr. Ripley, to think that over,” replied Mr. Luce, quietly.  “Remember, Ripley, you must be a good sportsman, and you should also be loyal to your High School.  In matters of loyalty one can’t always act on spite or impulse.”

“Humph!” muttered Fred, stalking away.

His keen disappointment was welling up inside.  With the vent of speech the suffering of the arrogant boy had become greater.  Now, Fred’s whole desire was to get away by himself, where he could nurse his rage in secret.  There were no more yells of “Oh, you Rip!” He had done some splendid pitching, and had made the team, for that matter, but he was not to be one of the season’s stars.  This latter fact, added to his deserved unpopularity, filled his spirit with gall as he hastened toward the dressing rooms.  There he quickly got into his street clothes and as hastily quitted the athletic field.

Therein Fred Ripley made a mistake, as he generally did in other things.  In sport all can’t win.  It is more of an art to be a cheerful, game loser than to bow to the plaudits of the throng.

“Mr. Prescott,” demanded Coach Luce, “how long have you been working under Pop Gint’s training?”

“Between four and five weeks, sir.”

“And Darrin the same length of time?”

“Yes, sir,” nodded Dave.

“Then, unless you two find something a whole lot better to do in life, you could do worse than to keep in mind the idea of trying for positions on the national teams when you’re older.”

“I think we have something better in view, Mr. Luce,” Dick answered smilingly.  “Eh, Dave?”

“Yes,” nodded Darrin and speaking emphatically.  “Athletics and sports are good for what they bring to a fellow in the way of health and training.  But a fellow ought to use the benefits as a physical foundation in some other kind of life where he can be more useful.”

“I suppose you two, then, have it all mapped out as to what you’re going to do in life?”

“Not quite,” Dick replied.  “But I think I know what we’d like to do when we’re through with our studies.”

There were other try-outs that afternoon, but the great interest was over.  Gridley fans were satisfied that the High School had a pitching trio that it would be difficult to beat anywhere except on the professional diamond.

“If anything should happen to Prescott and Darrin just before any of the big games,” muttered Ripley, darkly, to himself, “then I’d have my chance, after all!  Can’t I get my head to working and find a way to make something happen?”

CHAPTER XIII

THE RIOT CALL AND OTHER LITTLE THINGS