The High School Pitcher Part 12

They found the great Everett at home, and not only at home, but willing to take up with their proposal.

The celebrated professional pitcher named a price that caused Lawyer Ripley to hesitate for a few moments. Then catching the appealing look in his son's face, the elder Ripley agreed to the terms. The training was to be given at Duxbridge, in Everett's big and almost empty barn.

That night Lawyer Ripley, a man of prompt habit in business, mailed his check for the entire amount.

Fred, in the privacy of his own room, danced several brief but exuberant jigs.

"Now, I've got you, d.i.c.k Prescott! And I've not only got you, but if you come in second to me, I'll try to keep in such condition that I pitch every important game of the whole season!"

But the next morning the Ripley heir received a sad jolt. In one of his text-books he ran across a piece of cardboard on which was printed, in coa.r.s.e characters:

"Tuday, same plas, same time. Bring ten. Or don't, if you dare!"

"That infernal blackmailer, Tip Scammon!" flared Fred indignantly.

In the courage of desperation Fred promptly decided that he would ignore the Scammon rascal. Nor did Fred change his mind. Besides, this afternoon he was due at Duxbridge for his first lesson under the mighty Everett.

So Tip was on hand at the drug store beside the post office, but no Fred came. Tip scowled and hung about in the neighborhood until after four o'clock. Then he went away, a black look indeed on his not handsome face.

Meanwhile, most of the people of Gridley, as elsewhere in the Christian world, were thinking of "Peace on Earth" and all that goes with it. The stores were radiant with decorations and the display of gifts. The candy stores and hot soda places were doing a rus.h.i.+ng business.

d.i.c.k, who had been scurrying about in search of a few news paragraphs, and had found them, encountered Dave Darrin. Being something of a capitalist in these days, when "The Blade" was paying him two and a half to three dollars a week, Prescott invited his chum in to have a hot soda. While they were still in the place Laura Bentley and Belle Meade entered. The High School boys lifted their hats courteously to the girls and d.i.c.k invited them to have their soda with Dave and himself.

"We hear that baseball is going to be a matter of great enthusiasm during the next few months," said Laura, as they sipped their soda.

"Yes; and the cause of no end of heartburnings and envies," laughed Prescott. "From just after the holidays to some time in April every fellow will be busy trying to make the school team, and will feel aggrieved if he hits only the second team."

"Who's going to pitch for the school nine?" asked Belle.

"d.i.c.k Prescott," declared Dave instantly.

"I'd like to," nodded d.i.c.k, "but I've several good men against me. Darrin may take it all away from me. There are eight men down for pitching, altogether, so it isn't going to be an easy cinch for anyone."

"The nine always has more than one pitcher. Why can't _you_ make the position of pitcher, too?" asked Belle, looking at Dave.

"Oh, I may make the job of brevet-pitcher on the second nine,"

Dave laughed goodhumoredly. "The only reason I put my name down for pitcher was so as to make the fight look bigger."

"Who are the other candidates for pitcher?" asked Laura.

"Well, Ripley's one," replied Dave.

"Ripley? Oh, _he_!" uttered Miss Bentley, in a tone of scorn.

"I understand he's no fool of a pitcher," d.i.c.k remarked.

"I congratulate him, then," smiled Laura.

"On what?"

"Not being a fool in everything," returned Laura. Then she added, quickly:

"I'm afraid that expresses my real opinion, but I've no right to say it."

"There are two reasons why you shouldn't say it," added Dave, gravely.

"What are they?" Laura wanted to know.

"First of all---well, pardon me, but it sounds like talking about another behind his back. The other reason is that Ripley isn't worth talking about, anyway."

"Now, what are you doing?" demanded Belle.

"Oh, well," Dave replied, "Ripley knows my opinion of him pretty well.

But what are you doing this afternoon?"

"We're going shopping," Laura informed the boys as the quartette left the soda fountain. "Do you care to go around with us and look at the displays in the stores?"

"That's about all shopping means, isn't it?" smiled d.i.c.k. "Just going around and looking at things?"

"Then if you don't care to come with us-----" pouted Miss Bentley.

"Stop---please do, I beg of you," d.i.c.k hastily added. "Of course we want to go."

The two chums put in a very pleasant hour wandering about through the stores with the High School girls. Laura and Belle _did_ make some small purchases of materials out of which they intended to make gifts for the approaching holiday.

As they came out of the last store they moved toward the corner, the girls intending to take a car to pay a little visit to an aunt of Laura's before the afternoon was over.

d.i.c.k saw something in one of the windows at the corner and signed to Dave to come over. The two girls were left, momentarily, standing on the corner.

While they stood thus Fred Ripley came along. His first lesson in pitching had been brief, the great Everett declining to tire the boy's arm too much at the first drill. So young Ripley, after a twelve-mile trip in the auto through the crisp December air, came swinging down the street at a brisk walk.

Just as this moment he espied the two girls, though he did not see d.i.c.k or Dave. Belle happened to turn as Ripley came near her.

"Hullo, Meade!" he called, patronizingly.

It is a trick with some High School boys thus to address a girl student by her last name only, but it is not the act of a gentleman.

Belle resented it by stiffening at once, and glancing coldly at Ripley without greeting him.

In another instant Dave Darrin, at a bound, stood before the astonished Fred. Dave's eyes were flas.h.i.+ng in a way they were wont to do when he was thoroughly angry.

"Ripley---you cur! To address a young woman in that familiar fas.h.i.+on!" glared Dave.

"What have you to say about it?" demanded Fred, insolently.

"This!" was Dave Darrin's only answer in words.

Smack! His fist landed on one side of Fred's face. The latter staggered, then slipped to the ground.

"There's the car, d.i.c.k," uttered Dave, in a low tone. "Put the girls aboard."