Part 10 (1/2)

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.