"Yes, sir," nodded Dave. "Then, unless you two find something a whole lot better to do in life, you could do worse than to keep in mind the idea of trying for positions on the national teams when you're older." "I think we have something better in view, Mr. Luce," Dick answered smilingly. "Eh, Dave?" "Yes," nodded Darrin and speaking emphatically. "Athletics and sports are good for what they bring to a fellow in the way of health and training. But a fellow ought to use the benefits as a physical foundation in some other kind of life where he can be more useful." "I suppose you two, then, have it all mapped out as to what you're going to do in life?" "Not quite," Dick replied. "But I think I know what we'd like to do when we're through with our studies." There were other try-outs that afternoon, but the great interest was over. Gridley fans were satisfied that the High School had a pitching trio that it would be difficult to beat anywhere except on the professional diamond. "If anything _should_ happen to Prescott and Darrin just before any of _the big games_," muttered Ripley, darkly, to himself, "then I'd have my chance, after all! Can't I get my head to working and find a way to _make_ something happen?" CHAPTER XIII THE RIOT CALL AND OTHER LITTLE THINGS "To your seat, Mr. Bristow! You're acting like a rowdy!" Principal Cantwell uttered the order sharply. Fully half the student body had gathered in the big assembly room at the High School. It was still five minutes before the opening hour, and there had been a buzz of conversation through the room. The principal's voice was so loud that it carried through the room. Almost at once the buzz ceased as the students turned to see what was happening. Bristow had been skylarking a bit. Undoubtedly he had been more boisterous with one of the other fellows in the assembly room than good taste sanctioned. Just as naturally, however, Bristow resented the style of rebuke from authority. The boy wheeled about, glaring at the principal. "Go to your seat, sir!" thundered the principal, his face turning ghastly white from his suppressed rage. Bristow wheeled once more, in sullen silence, to go to his seat. Certainly he did not move fast, but he was obeying. "You mutinous young rascal, that won't do!" shot out from the principal's lips. In another instant Mr. Cantwell was crossing the floor rapidly toward the slow-moving offender. "Get to your seat quickly, or go in pieces!" rasped out the angry principal. Seizing the boy from behind by both shoulders, Mr. Cantwell gave him a violent push. Bristow tripped, falling across a desk and cutting a gash in his forehead. In an instant the boy was up and wheeled about, blood dripping from the cut, but something worse flashing in his eyes.