Though “The Blade” somehow missed the matter, there were a good many in Gridley who had heard the news by Saturday morning.  It traveled especially among the High School boys.  More than a dozen of them were at the book store as soon as that place was opened.

“How’s Dick?” asked all the callers.

“Doing finely,” replied the elder Prescott, cheerily.

“Great!  Is he going to pitch this afternoon?”

“Um—–­I can’t say about that.”

“If he can’t, Mr. Prescott, that’ll be one of Gridley’s chances gone over the fence.”

Dave was on hand as early as he could be.  Dick had already been told of the attempt on his chum the night before.

“You didn’t see the fellow well enough to make out who he was?” Prescott pressed eagerly.

“No,” admitted Dave, sadly.  “After a few seconds I got over my bewilderment enough to try to give chase.  But the dastard had sneaked away, cat-foot.  I know who it was, though, even if I didn’t see him.”

“Tip Scammon?”

“Surely,” nodded Darrin.  “He’s Ripley’s right hand at nasty work, isn’t he?”

“I’d hate to think that Fred had a hand in such mean business,” muttered Dick, flushing.

“Don’t be simple,” muttered Dave.  “Who wanted to be crack pitcher for the nine?  Who pitches to-day, if neither of us can?  That would be a mean hint to throw out, if Ripley’s past conduct didn’t warrant the suspicion.”

Later in the morning there was another phase of the sensation, and Dave came back with it.  He was just in time to find Dick walking out into the little parlor of the flat, Dr. Bentley watching.

“Fine!” cheered Dave.  “How is he, doctor?”

“Doing nicely,” nodded Dr. Bentley.

“But how about the big problem—–­can he pitch to-day?”

“That’s what we’re trying to guess,” replied the physician.  “Now, see here, Prescott, you’re to sit over there by the window, in the sunlight.  During the first hour you will get up once in every five minutes and walk around the room once, then seating yourself again.  In the second hour, you’ll walk around twice, every five minutes.  After that you may move about as much as you like, but don’t go out of the room.  I think you can, by this gentle exercise, work out all the little stiffness that’s left there.”

“And now for my news,” cried Dave, as soon as the medical man had gone.  “Fred Ripley ran into trouble, too.”

“Got hurt, you mean?” asked Dick quickly.

“Not quite,” went on Darrin, making a face.  “When Fred was going into the house last night he tripped slightly—–­against a rope that had been stretched across the garden path between two stakes.”

“But Fred wasn’t hurt?”

“No; he says he tripped, but he recovered himself.”

“I’m afraid you don’t believe that, Dave?”

“I ought to, anyway,” retorted Darrin dryly.  “Fred is showing the rope.”