as seen me do."

A shout of jubilation went up from a hundred throats now, for
Dick had just spun his second spit-ball across the plate. It
was equal to any that Ripley had shown.

"Confound the upstart! He's getting close to me on that style!"
gasped the astonished Ripley.

Now, Dick held the ball for a few moments, rolling it over in his
hands. An instant later, he unbent. Then he let drive. The ball
went slowly toward the plate, with flat trajectory.

"Wow!" came the sudden explosion. It was a _jump-ball_, going almost
to the plate, then rising instead of falling.

Three more of these Dick served, and now the cheering was the
biggest of the afternoon. Fred Ripley's mouth was wide open,
his breath coming jerkily.

Three fine inshoots followed. The hundreds on the seats were
standing up now. Then, to rest his arm, Dick, who was wholly
collected, and as cool as a veteran under fire, served the spectators
with a glimpse of an out-curve that was not quite like any that
they had ever seen before. This out-curve had a suspicion of
the jump-ball about it.

Dick was pitching easily, now. He had gotten his warming and
his nerve, and appeared to work without conscious strain.

"Do you want more, sir?" called Dick, at last.

"No," decided Coach Luce. "You've done enough, Prescott.
Mr. Darrin!"

Dave ran briskly to the box, opening the wrappings on a new ball
as he stepped into the box. After the first two balls Dave's
exhibition was swift, certain, fine. He had almost reached Dick
with his performance.

Ripley's bewildered astonishment was apparent in his face.

"Thunder, I'd no idea they could do anything like that!" gasped
Fred to himself. "They're very nearly as good as I am. How in
blazes did they ever get hold of the wrinkles? They can't afford
a man like Everett."

"Any more candidates?" called Coach Luce. There weren't. No
other fellow was going forward to show himself after the last
three who had worked from the box.

There was almost a dead silence, then, while Coach Luce and the
two members of the Athletics Committee conferred in whispers.
At last the coach stepped forward.

"We have chosen the pitchers!" he shouted. Then, after a pause,
Mr. Luce went on:

"The pitchers for the regular school nine will be Prescott, Darrin,
Ripley, in the order named."

"Oh, you Dick!"

"Bang-up Prescott!"

"Reliable old Darrin!"

"Ripley---ugh!"

And now the fierce cheering drowned ou