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The High School Pitcher, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 10. Dick & Co. Take A Turn At Feeling Glum |
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_ CHAPTER X. DICK & CO. TAKE A TURN AT FEELING GLUM
And another answered, hoarsely: "Nothing! He's a wonder!" Fred Ripley was unpopular. He was regarded as a cad and a sneak. But he could pitch ball! He could give great aid in bringing an unbroken line of victories to Gridley. That was enough. By now Coach Luce was a bit red in the face. He realized that his momentary relapse into the old college enthusiasm had made him look ridiculous, in his other guise of High School submaster. But when the submaster coach turned and saw Parkinson butting his head against the punching bag he called out: "What's the matter, Parkinson?" "Subbing for you, sir!" That turned the good-natured laugh of a few on Mr. Luce. Most of those present, however, had not been struck by the unusualness of his speech. Dick and Dave looked hard at each other. Both boys wanted to make the team as pitchers. Yet now it seemed most certain that Fred Ripley must stand out head and shoulders over any other candidates for the Gridley box. Dick's face shone with enthusiasm, none the less. If he couldn't make the nine this year, he could at least feel that Gridley High School was already well on toward the lead over all competing school nines. "I wish it were somebody else," muttered Dave, huskily, in his chum's ear. "Gridley is fixed for lead, anyway," replied Dick, "if Ripley can always keep in such form as that." "Can Ripley do it again?" shouted one Gridley senior. "Try it, and see, Ripley," urged Mr. Luce, again swinging his bat. Fred had been holding the returned ball for a minute or two. His face was flushed, his eyes glowing. Never before had he made such a hit among his schoolmates. It was sweet, at last, to taste the pleasures of local fame. He stood gazing about him, drinking in the evident delight of the High School boys. In fact he did not hear the coach's order until it came again. "Try another one, Ripley!" The young man moistened his fingers, placing the ball carefully. Of a sudden his arm shot out. Again the coach struck for what looked a fair ball, yet once more Mr. Luce fanned air and the catcher straightened up, ball in hand. Pumph! The lazily thrown ball landed in Ripley's outstretched left. He moistened his fingers, wet the ball, and let drive almost instantly. For the third time Mr. Luce fanned out. Then Fred spoke, in a tone of satisfied self-importance: "Coach, that's all I'll do this afternoon, if you don't mind." "Right," nodded Mr. Luce. "You don't want to strain your work before you've really begun it any other candidates for pitching want to have a try now?" As the boys of the squad waited for an answer, a low laugh began to ripple around the gym. The very idea of any fellow trying after Ripley had made his wonderful showing was wholly funny! Coach Luce called out the names of another small squad to scatter over the gym. and to throw the ball to anyone he named. Except for the few who were in this forced work, no attention was paid to the players. Fred Ripley had walked complacently to one side of the gym. A noisy, gleeful group formed around him. "Rip, where did you ever learn that great work?" "Who taught you?" "Say, how long have you been hiding that thousand-candle-power light under a bushel?" "Rip, it was the greatest work I ever saw a boy do." "Will you show me---after the nine has been made up, of course?" "How did you ever get it down so slick?" This was all meat to the boy who had long been unpopular. "I always was a pretty fair pitcher, wasn't I?" asked Fred. "Yes; but never anything like the pitcher you showed us to-day," glowed eager Parkinson. "I've been doing a good deal of practicing and study since the close of last season," Fred replied importantly. "I've studied out a lot of new things. I shan't show them all, either, until the real season begins." Fred's glance, in roaming around, took in Dick & Co. For once, these six very popular sophomores had no one else around them. "Whew! I think I've taken some wind out of the sails of Mr. Self-satisfied Prescott," Fred told himself jubilantly. "We shan't hear so much about Dick & Co. for a few months!" "Well, anyway, Dick," said Tom Reade, "you and Dave needn't feel too badly. If Ripley turns out to be the nine's crack pitcher, the nine also carries two relief pitchers. You and Dave have a chance to be the relief pitchers. _That_ will make the nine for you both, anyway. But, then, that spitball may be the only thing Ripley knows." "Don't fool yourself," returned Prescott, shaking his head. "If Ripley can do that one so much like a veteran, then he knows other styles of tossing, too. I'm glad for Gridley High School---mighty glad. I wouldn't mind on personal grounds, either, if only---if-----" "If Fred Ripley were only a half decent fellow," Harry Hazelton finished for him. Coach Luce soon dismissed the squad for the day. A few minutes later the boys left the gym. in groups. Of course the pitching they had seen was the sole theme. Ripley didn't have to walk away alone to-day. Coach Luce and a dozen of the boys stepped along with him in great glee. "It's Rip! Old Rip will be the most talked about fellow in any High School league this year," Parkinson declared, enthusiastically. Even the fellows who actually despised Fred couldn't help their jubilation. Gridley was strong in athletics just because of the real old Gridley High School spirit. Gridley's boys always played to win. They made heroes of the fellows who could lead them to victory after victory. Fred was far on his way home ere the last boy had left him. "I'll get everything in sight now," Ripley told himself, in ecstasy, as he turned in at the gateway to his home. "Why, even if Prescott does get into the relief box, I can decide when he shall or shall not pitch. I'll never see him get a _big_ game to pitch in. Oh, but this blow to-day has hurt Dick Prescott worse than a blow over the head with an iron stake could. I've wiped him up and put him down again. I've made him feel sick and ashamed of his puny little inshoot! Prescott, you're mine to do as I please with on this year's nine---if you can make it at all!" In truth, though young Prescott kept a smiling face, and talked cheerily, he could hardly have been more cast down than he was. Dick always went into any sport to win and lead, and he had set his heart on being Gridley's best man in the box. But now----- Dick & Co. all felt that they needed the open air after the grilling and the surprise at the gym. So they strolled, together, on Main Street, for nearly an hour ere they parted and went home to supper. The next day the talk at school was mostly about Ripley, or "Rip," as he was now more intimately called. Even the girls took more notice of him. Formerly Fred hadn't been widely popular among them. But now, as the coming star of the High School nine, and a new wonder in the school firmament, he had a new interest for them. Half the girls, or more, were "sincere fans" at the ball games. Baseball was so much of a craze among them that these girls didn't have to ask about the points of the game. They knew the diamond and most of its rules. Incense was sweet to the boy to whom it had so long been denied, but of course it turned "Rip's" head. _ |
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