In the basement was a barrel of sand that was used for sanding the icy sidewalk in winter. As soon as Dick had run upstairs with the bread he went below, got a few handfuls of sand and fixed the sidewalk. At recess Dick noticed just enough about his wrist to make him speak about it to Submaster Luce. "Let me see it," demanded coach. "Hm!" he muttered. "Another peculiar accident, and only two days before our game with Chichester! See Dr. Bentley about your wrist at his office this afternoon. I'm beginning to think, Prescott, that it's a fortunate thing for you that the medical director is paid out of the fund. You'd bankrupt an ordinary citizen if you're going to keep on having these tumbles." Dr. Bentley's verdict was that, while the wrist was not in a condition that need bother men much in ordinary callings, yet, as a pitcher's wrist, it would need rest and care. "I've just got the tip that I'm to pitch in the Chichester game," said Dave, coming to his chum that afternoon. "Yes; Doe thinks I ought to look after this wrist---that it wouldn't stand extraordinary strain during the next few days. But, Dave, old fellow, watch out! Keep your eye on the sidewalks near your home. Don't prowl in lonely places after dark. Act as if you were made of glass until you get on the field at the Chichester game." Darrin glanced shrewdly at his friend, then nodded. "I'm on, Dick! Confound that fellow, Ripley. And he's as slick and slippery as an eel. I don't suppose there is any way that we can catch him?" "If I knew a way I'd use it," growled Prescott. "I'm sick of having this thing so onesided all the time. Ripley plans, and we pay the piper. The blackguard!" "Then you're sure Ripley is at the bottom of these accidents?" "The accidents are planned," retorted Dick. "Who else would care to plan them, except that disagreeable fellow?" "I'd like to get just proof enough to justify me in demanding that he stand up before me for twenty rounds," gritted Dave Darrin. Dave did take extraordinary care of himself, and was on hand to pitch at the game with Chichester. This game, like the first, was on the home grounds. It was a close game, won by Gridley, two to one. In some respects Chichester's fielding work was better than the home team's. It was undying grit that won the battle---that and Dave Darrin's pitching. As the jubilant home fans left the ball grounds it was the general opinion that Dave Darrin was only the merest shade behind Dick Prescott as a pitcher. "Either one of them in the box," said Coach Luce to a friend, "and the game is half won." "But how about Ripley?" "Ripley?" replied the coach. "He made a good showing in the tryouts, but we haven't had in the field yet. He will be, though, the next game. We play Brayton High School over at Brayton. It's one of the smaller games, and we're going to try Ripley there." Then the coach added, to himself: