The High School Pitcher Part 41

"You could have hit that ball a better swipe," growled Wayland's captain to the last man at bat. The victim of the rebuke didn't answer. He knew that he had faced a pitcher wholly rejuvenated by sheer grit and nerve force.

At its loudest the band was blaring forth "At the Old Ball Game,"

and thousands were following with the words. Wayland fans were strolling away in dejection, but Gridley folks stood up to watch and cheer.

The whole nine had done its duty in fine shape, but d.i.c.k Prescott had made himself the idol of the Gridley diamond.

When the band stopped, the cheers welled forth. The lion's share was for Prescott, but Darrin was not forgotten. Even Ripley, who had pitched three of the minor games, came in for some notice.

d.i.c.k?

With the strain and suspense gone he felt limp and weak for a few minutes. Under the cold shower he revived somewhat. Yet, when he started homeward, he found that he ached all over. With the last game of the season gone by, d.i.c.k half imagined that his right wrist was a huge boil.

At the gateway Schimmelpodt, that true devotee of sport, waited.

As the young High School pitcher came forth Herr Schimmelpodt rested a fat hand on the boy's shoulder, whispering in his ear:

"Ach! But I know vere is dere a _real_ jointed fishpole. It was two dollar, but now it stands itself by, marked to one-nineteen.

In der morning, Bresgott, it shall be yours. Und listen!"

d.i.c.k looked up into the blinking eyes.

"Dot fishpole for der summer use is goot fine! Und venever you see me going by bis my vagon, don't you be slow to holler und ask me for a ride!"

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

Commencement Day!

For a large percentage of High School boys and girls, the end of the soph.o.m.ore year marks the end of their schooling.

This was true at Gridley as elsewhere. When the crowd came forth from commencement exercises at the Opera House on this bright, warm June afternoon, there were not a few of the soph.o.m.ores who were saying good-bye to the cla.s.sic halls of instruction.

Not so, however, with d.i.c.k & Co. They were bound all the way through the course, and hoped to take up with college or other academic training when once good old Gridley High School must be left behind.

"What are you going to do this summer, Prescott?" asked Dr. Bentley, gripping the lad's arm, as d.i.c.k stood on the sidewalk chatting with Dave Darrin.

"Work, mostly, doctor. I'm getting near the age when fellow should try to bear some of the expense of keeping himself."

"What will you work at?"

"Why, reporting for 'The Blade.' I believe I can capture a good many stray dollars this summer."

"Good enough," murmured Dr. Bentley, approvingly. "But are you going to have any spare time?"

"A little, I hope---just about enough for some rest."

"Then I'll tell you where you can take that rest," went on the medical man. "My family are going into camp for the summer, in three days. They'll be over at the lake range, on a piece of ground that I've bought there. You can get over once in a while, and spend a night or two, can't you? Mrs. Bentley charged me to ask you and Darrin," added the physician. "Belle Meade is going to spend the summer in camp with Laura."

Both boys were prompt with their thanks.

"Confound it," muttered Dr. Bentley, "I'm forgetting two thirds of my message at that. The invitation includes all of d.i.c.k & Co. Now remember you'll all be looked for from time to time, and most heartily welcome."

Both boys were most hearty in their thanks. This took care of whatever spare time they might have, for Dave, too, was to be busy a good deal of the time. He had work as an extra clerk at the express office.

Then the two girl chums came along. d.i.c.k and Dave strolled along with Laura and Belle. The other partners of d.i.c.k & Co. were soon to be seen, their narrow-brimmed straw hats close to bobbing picture hats.

"Your father gave us a message, Laura," d.i.c.k murmured to the girl beside him.

"And you're going to accept it?" asked the girl quickly.

"At any chance to be honestly away from work," d.i.c.k promised fervently.

"Yet at my age a fellow must keep something of an eye toward business, too, Laura."

"Yes," she answered slowly, glancing covertly at the bronzed young face and the strong, lithe body. "You're nearing manhood, d.i.c.k."

"Just about as rapidly as you're growing into womanhood, Laura,"

answered the boy.

Dave and Belle were chatting, too, but what they said wouldn't interest very staid old people.

Gridley was prouder than ever of its athletic teams. The great record in baseball, with d.i.c.k & Co. in the team, was something worth talking about.

Lest there be some who may think that a season of baseball with no defeats is an all but impossible record, the chronicler hastens to add that there are, through the length and breadth of these United States, several High School teams every year that make such a showing.

Yet, in baseball, as in everything else, the record is reached only by nines like the Gridley crowd, where the stiffest training, the best coaches and the best individual nerve and grit among the players are to be found.

Did Fred Ripley truly make good?

What else happened?

These and various other burning questions must now be answered in the chronicle of the time to which they belonged. So the reader is referred to the next volume in this series, which is to be published at once under the caption: "_The High School Left End; Or, d.i.c.k & Co. Grilling on the Football Gridiron_."

At the same time, no interested reader will allow himself to overlook the second volume in the "_High School Boys' Vacation Series_,"

which runs parallel with this present series. All the wonderful summer vacation adventures that followed the soph.o.m.ore year of Prescott and his chums will be found in the volume published under the t.i.tle, "_The High School Boys' In Summer Camp; Or, The d.i.c.k Prescott Six Training for the Gridley Eleven_." It is a thrilling story that no follower of the fortunes of these lads can afford to overlook.

THE END