color
came to his face.

The object that he held was a bulky, substantial, woven "sweater."
Across the front of it had been worked, in cross-stitch, the
initials, "G.H.S."

"Gridley High School! Did you get one just like this, Dave?"

"Yes."

"But we can't wear 'em," muttered Dick. "The initials are allowed
only to the students who have made some school team, or who have
captured some major athletic event. We've never done either."

"That's just the point of the gift, I reckon," beamed Darrin.

"Oh, I see," cried Dick. "These sweaters are our orders to go
ahead and make the baseball nine."

"That's just it," declared Dave.

"Well, it's mighty fine of the girls," murmured Dick, gratefully.
"Are you---going to accept yours, Dave?"

"Accept?" retorted Dave. "Why, it would be rank not to."

"Of course," Prescott agreed.. "But you know what acceptance
carries with it? Now, we've got to make the nine, whether or
not. We pledge ourselves to that in accepting these fine gifts."

"Oh, that's all right," nodded Dave, cheerily. "You're going
to make the team."

"If there's any power in me to do it," declared Dick.

"And you're going to drag me in after you. Dick, old fellow,
we've absolutely as good as promised that we will make the nine."

Dick Prescott was now engaged in pulling the sweater over his
head. This accomplished, he stood surveying himself in the glass.

"Gracious! But this is fine," gasped young Prescott. "And now,
oh, Dave, but we've got to hustle! Think how disgusted the girls
will be if we fail."

"We can't fail, now," declared Dave earnestly. "The girls, and
the sweaters themselves, are our mascots against failure."

"Good! That's the right talk!" cheered Prescott, seizing his
chum's hand. "Yes, sir! We'll make the nine or bury ourselves
under a shipload of self-disgust!"

"Both of the girls must have a hand in each sweater," Dave went
on, examining Dick's closely. "I can't see a shade of difference
between yours and mine. But I'm afraid the other fellows in Dick
& Co. will feel just a bit green with envy over our good luck."

"It's a mighty fine gift," Dick went on, "yet I'm almost inclined
to wish the girls hadn't done it. It must have made a big inroad
in their Christmas money."

"That's so," nodded Darrin, thoughtfully. "But say, Dick! I'm
thundering glad I got wind of this before it happened. Thank
goodness we didn't have to leave the girls out. Though we w