The High School Pitcher Part 10

By order of the Athletics Committee of the Alumni a.s.sociation.

(signed) Edward Luce, B.B. Coach._

A shout of approval went up from half of those present as Purcell, of the junior cla.s.s, finished reading.

Many of those who had no thought of making the school or second teams were filled with delight at thought of the training season being so soon to open.

One of the boys who was pleased was Fred Ripley. He had handed that five-dollar bill to Tip Scammon the afternoon before, and now felt rather certain that he had closed the door on the whole Scammon episode.

Like many another haughty, disagreeable person, Ripley had, in spite of his treatment of others, a keen desire to be well thought of. The year before, in the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s, Fred had played as one of the pitchers in the second team, and had done fairly well on the few occasions when he had been given a chance.

"There's no good reason why I can't make the post of pitcher on the school team this year," thought young Ripley, with a thrill of hope and expectant delight.

"Going to show up this afternoon?" asked Dave of Prescott.

"Of course I am, Darrin," answered Prescott, as d.i.c.k & Co. met out on the sidewalk.

"Going to try to make the regular team?"

"Of course I am," declared d.i.c.k, smiling. "And so, I hope, are every one of you fellows."

"I'd like to," agreed Tom Reade.

"Then don't say you'd _like_ to; say you're _going_ to," admonished d.i.c.k. "The fellow who doesn't quite know never gets much of any place. Just say to yourself that you're going to be one of the stars on the school team. If you have to fall into the second team---don't be cast down over it---but make every possible effort toward getting on the top team. That's the spirit that wins in athletics," finished d.i.c.k, sagely.

"I'm going to make the school team," announced Dave Darrin. "Not only that, but I'll proclaim it to anyone who'll be kind enough to listen. The school nine, or 'bust,' for me."

"Good enough!" cheered d.i.c.k. "Now, then, fellows, we'll all be on hand this afternoon, won't we, and on every other afternoon that we're needed?"

d.i.c.k & Co. carried that proposition by a unanimous vote.

"But see here, fellows," urged d.i.c.k Prescott, "just try to keep one idea in mind, please. There's a good deal of objection, every year, that athletics are allowed to interfere with studies. Now, as soon as the end of recess is called to-day, let's every one of us go back with our minds closed to baseball. Let us all keep our minds right on our studies. Why can't we six help to prove that interest in athletics puts the scholars.h.i.+p mark up, not down?"

"We can," nodded Dave Darrin. "Good! I like that idea. We'll simply go ahead and put our scholars.h.i.+p away up over where it is at present."

To this the other chums agreed heartily.

Luce, the coach for baseball, was one of the under submasters.

He had made a record at college, for both baseball and scholars.h.i.+p.

He was a complete enthusiast on the game of the diamond. The year before he had trained the school nine to a record that beat anything in the High School line in the whole state. His bulletin announced that he intended to try to make the coming nine the best yet. It didn't say that, in so many words, but the bulletin implied it.

Fred Ripley did not hit upon the idea of improved scholars.h.i.+p.

Instead, that young man went into two cla.s.ses, after recess, and reported "not prepared." Then he settled back into a brown study of his chances in baseball.

"I don't suppose d.i.c.k & Co. will have the nerve to try for anything better than the second nine," muttered Fred to himself. "Still, one can never tell what that crowd will have the nerve to do!"

School out, Fred hurried home faster than was his wont. He caught his father just as the latter was leaving the lunch table.

"Dad, can I have a few minutes' talk with you about one of my ambitions?" pleaded Fred.

"Certainly, my boy," replied the wealthy, retired lawyer. "I'm glad, indeed, to hear that you have any ambitions. Come into the library, if you can let your luncheon go that long."

"If you don't mind, Dad, I'd rather eat while I talk," urged Fred.

"I have to be back at school before three."

"What---under discipline?" inquired the lawyer.

"No, sir; it's baseball that I wish to talk about."

"Well, then, Fred, what is it?" asked his father.

"Why, sir, we're going to get together on baseball, this afternoon.

The start for the season is to be made early this year. Gridley expects to put forth the finest High School nine ever."

"I'm glad to hear that," nodded the lawyer. "School and college athletics, rightly indulged in, give the budding man health, strength, courage and discipline to take with him out into the battle of life. We didn't have much in the way of athletics when I was at college, but I appreciate the modern tendency more than do some men of my age."

Fred, though not interested in his father's praise of athletics waited patiently until his parent had finished.

"I'm pretty sure, Dad, I can make the chance of being the star pitcher on the school team for this coming season, if only you'll back me up in it."

"Why, as far as that goes," replied Lawyer Ripley, "I believe that about all the benefits of school athletics can be gained by one who isn't necessarily right at the top of the crowd."

"But not to go to the top of the crowd, and not to try too, Dad, is contrary to the spirit of athletics," argued Fred, rather cleverly.

"Besides, one of the best things about athletics, I think, is the spirit to fight for leaders.h.i.+p. That's a useful lesson---leaders.h.i.+p---to carry out into life, isn't it, sir?"

"Yes, it is; you're right about that, son," nodded the lawyer.

"Well, sir, Everett, one of the crack pitchers of national fame, is over in Duxbridge for the winter. He doesn't go south with his team for practice until the middle or latter part of February.

Duxbridge is only twelve miles from here. He could come over here, or you could let your man take me over to Duxbridge in your auto. Dad, I want to be the pitcher of the crack battery in the school nine. Will you engage Everett, or let me hire him, to train me right from the start in all the best styles of pitching?"

"How much would it cost?" asked the lawyer, cautiously.

"I don't know exactly, sir. A few hundred dollars, probably."

Fred's face was glowing with eagerness. His mother, who was standing just behind him, nodded encouragingly at her husband.

"Well, yes, Fred, if you're sure you can make yourself the star pitcher of the school nine, I will."

"When may I go to see Everett, sir?" asked Fred, making no effort to conceal the great joy this promise had given him.

"Since you're to be engaged for this afternoon, Fred, we'll make it to-morrow. I'll order out the car and go over to Duxbridge with you.".

It was in the happiest possible frame of mind, for him, that Fred Ripley went back to the High School that afternoon. He didn't arrive until five minutes before the hour for calling the meeting; he didn't care to be of the common crowd that would be on hand at or soon after two-thirty.

When he entered, he found a goodly and noisy crowd of some eighty High School boys of the three upper cla.s.ses present. Ripley nodded to a few with whom he was on the best terms.

Settees had been placed at one end of the gym. There was an aisle between two groups of these seats.