After an instant Mr. Luce shouted, "Strike!" and was off like a flash. Many of the boys present had never seen coach really sprint before. As they watched during the amazingly few seconds a yell of delight went up from them. This was sprinting! "Did you all find time to observe?" smiled coach, as he came loping in from second base. "We all watched you," laughed Dick. "But the time was short." "You see the true principle of the sprint?" "Yes; but it would take any of us years to get the sprint down that fine," protested Darrin. "Don't be too sure of that," retorted coach. "Some of you will have doubled the style and steam of your sprint by the time you're running in the first game. Now, don't forget a word of what I've said about the importance of true sprinting. I've seen many a nine whose members had a fine battery, and all the fielders good men; yet, when they went to the bat and hit the leather, their sprinting was so poor that they lost game after game. From now on, the sprint's the thing! Yet don't overdo it by doing it all the time. Take plenty of rest and deep breathing between sprints. Usually, a two-bag sprint is all you need. Now, some more of you get out and try it." Rapidly coach called off the names of those he wanted to try out. Some of these young men did better than the starters, for they had learned from the criticisms, and from the showing of Luce's standard form. Presently the young men were standing about in various parts of the field, for none came in until called. "Ripley," said Mr. Luce, turning to that young man, "you have the build and the lines of a good sprinter." "Thank you, sir," nodded Fred. "And yet your performance falls off. Your lung capacity ought to be all right from your appearance. What is the trouble? Honestly, have you been smoking any cigarettes?" "Not one," Fred declared promptly. Mr. Luce lifted the boy's right hand, scanning it. "If I were going to make such a denial," remarked coach coolly, "I'd be sure to have a piece of pumice stone, and I'd use it often to take away those yellowish stains." The light-brownish stains were faint on Fred's first and second fingers. Yet, under careful scrutiny, they could be made out. Ripley colored uncomfortably, jerking his hand away. "Better cut out the paper pests," advised coach quietly. "Only one, once in a while," murmured the boy. "I won't have even that many after this." "I should hope not," replied Mr. Luce. "You're under training pledge, you know." All Fred meant by his promise was that he would use pumice stone painstakingly on his finger tips hereafter. Within the next few days, Dick and Darrin made about the best showing as to sprinting form, though many of the others did remarkably well. "Ripley isn't cutting out the cigarettes," decided Mr. Luce, watching the running of the lawyer's son. "He proves it by his lack of improvement. His respiration is all to the bad."