d out.
Ripley was known to be the favorite in all the guessing. In
fact, there wasn't any guessing. Some, however, believed that
Dick, and possibly Dave, might be chosen as the relief pitchers.

Dick himself looked mighty solemn, as he stood by, apparently
seeing but little of what was going on. Beside him stood Dave.
The other four chums were not far off.

Another wild howl went up from the High School contingent when
two more men were seen to leave the dressing room building and
walk out toward Coach Luce. These were two members of the Athletic
Committee, former students at Gridley High School. These two
were to aid the coach in choosing the men for the school team.
They would also name the members of the school's second team.

"Now, we'll try you out on pitching, if you're ready," announced
Mr. Luce, turning to a member of the junior class. The young
fellow grinned half-sheepishly, but was game. He ran over to
the box, after nodding to the catcher he had chosen. Luce took
the bat and stood by the home plate. To-day the coach did not
intend to strike at any of the balls, but he and the two members
of the Athletic Committee would judge, and award marks to the
candidates.

"Oh, we don't want the dub! Trot out Rip!" came a roaring chorus.

Coach Luce, however, from this time on, paid no heed to the shouts
or demands of spectators.

The candidate for box honors now displayed all he knew about pitching,
though some nervousness doubtless marred his performance.

"Now, run out Rip!" came the insistent chorus again, after this
candidate had shown his curves and had gone back.

But it was another member of the junior class who came to the
box for the next trial.

"Dead ball! Throw wild and cut it short!" came the advice from
the seats.

Then a sophomore was tried out. But the crowd was becoming highly
impatient.

"We want Rip! We demand Rip. Give us Rip or give us chloroform!"
came the insistent clamor. "We'll come another day to see the
dead ones, if you insist."

Coach Luce looked over at Fred, and nodded. The tumultuous cheering
lasted two full minutes, for Gridley was always as strong on
fans as it wanted to be on players.

Fred Ripley was flushed but proud. He tried to hold himself jauntily,
with an air of indifference, as he stood with the ball clasped
in both hands, awaiting the signal.

Ripley felt that he could afford to be satisfied with himself.
The advance consciousness of vi