Three disheartened base runners turned and slouched dispiritedly toward the dressing rooms. "You could have hit that ball a better swipe," growled Wayland's captain to the last man at bat. The victim of the rebuke didn't answer. He knew that he had faced a pitcher wholly rejuvenated by sheer grit and nerve force. At its loudest the band was blaring forth "At the Old Ball Game," and thousands were following with the words. Wayland fans were strolling away in dejection, but Gridley folks stood up to watch and cheer. The whole nine had done its duty in fine shape, but Dick Prescott had made himself the idol of the Gridley diamond. When the band stopped, the cheers welled forth. The lion's share was for Prescott, but Darrin was not forgotten. Even Ripley, who had pitched three of the minor games, came in for some notice. Dick? With the strain and suspense gone he felt limp and weak for a few minutes. Under the cold shower he revived somewhat. Yet, when he started homeward, he found that he ached all over. With the last game of the season gone by, Dick half imagined that his right wrist was a huge boil. At the gateway Schimmelpodt, that true devotee of sport, waited. As the young High School pitcher came forth Herr Schimmelpodt rested a fat hand on the boy's shoulder, whispering in his ear: "Ach! But I know vere is dere a _real_ jointed fishpole. It was two dollar, but now it stands itself by, marked to one-nineteen. In der morning, Bresgott, it shall be yours. Und listen!" Dick looked up into the blinking eyes. "Dot fishpole for der summer use is goot fine! Und venever you see me going by bis my vagon, don't you be slow to holler und ask me for a ride!" CHAPTER XXIV CONCLUSION Commencement Day! For a large percentage of High School boys and girls, the end of the sophomore year marks the end of their schooling. This was true at Gridley as elsewhere. When the crowd came forth from commencement exercises at the Opera House on this bright, warm June afternoon, there were not a few of the sophomores who were saying good-bye to the classic halls of instruction. Not so, however, with Dick & Co. They were bound all the way through the course, and hoped to take up with college or other academic training when once good old Gridley High School must be left behind. "What are you going to do this summer, Prescott?" asked Dr. Bentley, gripping the lad's arm, as Dick stood on the sidewalk chatting with Dave Darrin. "Work, mostly, doctor. I'm getting near the age when fellow should try to bear some of the expense of keeping himself." "What will you work at?" "Why, reporting for 'The Blade.' I believe I can capture a good many stray dollars this summer." "Good enough," murmured Dr. Bentley, approvingly. "But are you going to have any spare time?" "A little, I hope---just about enough for some rest."