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?"