“You can judge, from what I’ve said,” replied Coach Luce.

“I’m glad then, Coach, for it shows I wasn’t so far off the track in my own private judgment.”

Yet, to hear Fred Ripley tell about the game, it wasn’t such a small affair.  He judged his foemen by the fact that they had to contend with him.

“Five to two is the safest margin we’ve had yet,” he confided to those who listened to him at the High School.  “More than that, we had Brayton tied down so that, at no time in the game, did they have any show to break the score against us.  Now, if Luce and Purcell fix it up for me to pitch the real games of the season”

“Oh, cut it out, Rip,” advised one listener, good-naturedly.  “Brayton is only a fishball team, anyway.  Not a real, sturdy beef-eater in the lot.”

The season moved on briskly now.  Dick pitched two games, and Darrin one in between Prescott’s pair.  Dick’s first game was won by a score of one to nothing; his second game, the return date against Gardiner, was a tie.  The game in which Darrin pitched was won by a score of three to two.

Then came a game with a team not much above Brayton’s standing.

“Prescott and Darrin must be saved for some of the bigger games,” decided Coach Luce.  “Purcell, don’t you think it will be safe to trust Ripley to pitch against Cedarville High School?”

“Yes,” nodded the captain of the nine.  “I don’t believe Cedarville could harm us, anyway, if we put left field or shortstop in the box.”

Fred Ripley was notified.  At once Cedarville became, in his talk, one of the most formidable nines on the state’s High School circuit.

“But we’ll skin ’em, you’ll see,” promised Fred, through the week.  “Be at the game, and see what I can do when I’m feeling well.  Cedarville has no chance.”

Ripley was in high spirits all through the week.  All through that Saturday forenoon he moved about in a trance of exultation.  Yet, underneath it all, he was somewhat seedy in a physical sense, for he had been out late the night before to meet Tip and hand over some money.

Late that Saturday forenoon, Lawyer Ripley returned from a business trip.  Soon after he returned home, and had seen a man in his library, he went in search of his wife.

“Where’s Fred?” demanded the lawyer.

“He went out up the street, to get a good walk,” replied Mrs. Ripley.  “You know, my dear, he is to pitch for Gridley in one of the biggest games of the season this afternoon.”

“Hm!” said the lawyer.  “Well, see here.  Let Fred have his luncheon.  Don’t say a word until then.  As soon as he is over with the meal, send him to me in the library.  Don’t give him any hint until he has finished eating.”

“Is—–­is anything wrong?” asked Mrs. Ripley, turning around quickly.

“Just a few little questions I want to talk over with the boy,” replied Mr. Ripley.