THE CALL TO THE DIAMOND---FRED SCHEMES
Recess! As the long lines filed rhythmically down from the second
floor, thence to the basement, the leaders of the files quickly
discovered something new posted on the bulletin board near the
boys' locker rooms.
As quickly as the files broke, there was such a rush to see the
new bulletin that those who got the best places had to read aloud
to others. This was what the bulletin proclaimed:
Notice.
_The gymnasium will be open at 2.30 this afternoon for the
gathering of all male students, except freshmen, who may be interested
in trying to make either the school or second baseball teams for
the coming season. Gridley will have some notable rivals in the
field this next year. Information comes that several of school
baseball teams will have better material and longer training for
next season. It is earnestly desired that all members of the
three upper classes who consider themselves capable of making
either of the Gridley High School baseball teams be on hand this
afternoon, when as full plans as possible will be made.
By order of the Athletics Committee of the Alumni Association.
(signed) Edward Luce,
B.B. Coach._
A shout of approval went up from half of those present
as Purcell, of the junior class, finished reading.
Many of those who had no thought of making the school or second
teams were filled with delight at thought of the training season
being so soon to open.
One of the boys who was pleased was Fred Ripley. He had handed
that five-dollar bill to Tip Scammon the afternoon before, and
now felt rather certain that he had closed the door on the whole
Scammon episode.
Like many another haughty, disagreeable person, Ripley had, in
spite of his treatment of others, a keen desire to be well thought
of. The year before, in the sophomore class, Fred had played
as one of the pitchers in the second team, and had done fairly
well on the few occasions when he had been given a chance.
"There's no good reason why I can't make the post of pitcher on
the school team this year," thought young Ripley, with a thrill
of hope and expectant delight.
"Going to show up this afternoon?" asked Dave of Prescott.
"Of course I am, Darrin," answered Prescott, as Dick & Co. met
out on the sidewalk.
"Going to try to make the regular team?"
"Of course I am," declared Dick, smiling. "And so, I hope, are
every one of you fellows."
"I'd like to," agreed Tom Reade.
"Then don't say you'd _like_ to; say you're _going_ to," admonished
Dick. "The fellow who doesn't quite know never gets much of any
place. Just say to yourself that you're going to be one of the
stars on the school team. If you have to fall into the second
team---don't be cast down over it---but make every possible effort
toward getting on the top team. That's the spirit that wins in
athletics," finished Dick, sagely.
"I'm going to make the school team," announced Dave Darrin. "Not
only that, but I'll proclaim it to anyone who'll be kind enough
to listen. The school nine, or 'bust,' for me."
"Good enough!" cheered Dick. "Now, then, fellows, we'll all be
on hand this afternoon, won't we, and on every other afternoon
that we're needed?"
Dick & Co. carried that proposition by a unanimous vote.
"But see here, fellows," urged Dick Prescott, "just try to keep
one idea in mind, please. There's a good deal of objection, every
year, that athletics are allowed to interfere with studies. Now,
as soon as the end of recess is called to-day, let's every one
of us go back with our minds closed to baseball. Let us all keep
our minds right on our studies. Why can't we six help to prove
that interest in athletics puts the scholarship mark up, not down?"
"We can," nodded Dave Darrin. "Good! I like that idea. We'll
simply go ahead and put our scholarship away up over where it
is at present."
To this the other chums agreed heartily.
Luce, the coach for baseball, was one of the under submasters.
He had made a record at college, for both baseball and scholarship.
He was a complete enthusiast on the game of the diamond. The
year before he had trained the school nine to a record that beat
anything in the High School line in the whole state. His bulletin
announced that he intended to try to make the coming nine the
best yet. It didn't say that, in so many words, but the bulletin
implied it.
Fred Ripley did not hit upon the idea of improved scholarship.
Instead, that young man went into two classes, after recess,
and reported "not prepared." Then he settled back into a brown
study of his chances in baseball.
"I don't suppose Dick & Co. will have the nerve to try for anything
better than the second nine," muttered Fred to himself. "Still,
one can never tell what that crowd will have the nerve to do!"
School out, Fred hurried home faster than was his wont. He caught
his father just as the latter was leaving the lunch table.
"Dad, can I have a few minutes' talk with you about one of my
ambitions?" pleaded Fred.
"Certainly, my boy," replied the wealthy, retired lawyer. "I'm
glad, indeed, to hear that you have any ambitions. Come into
the library, if you can let your luncheon go that long."
"If you don't mind, Dad, I'd rather eat while I talk," urged Fred.
"I have to be back at school before three."
"What---under discipline?" inquired the lawyer.
"No, sir; it's baseball that I wish to talk about."
"Well, then, Fred, what is it?" asked his father.
"Why, sir, we're going to get together on baseball, this afternoon.
The start for the season is to be made early this year. Gridley
expects to put forth the finest High School nine ever."
"I'm glad to hear that," nodded the lawyer. "School and college
athletics, rightly indulged in, give the budding man health, strength,
courage and discipline to take with him out into the battle of
life. We didn't have much in the way of athletics when I was
at college, but I appreciate the modern tendency more than do
some men of my age."
Fred, though not interested in his father's praise of athletics
waited patiently until his parent had finished.
"I'm pretty sure, Dad, I can make the chance of being the star
pitcher on the school team for this coming season, if only you'll
back me up in it."
"Why, as far as that goes," replied Lawyer Ripley, "I believe
that about all the benefits of school athletics can be gained
by one who isn't necessarily right at the top of the crowd."
"But not to go to the top of the crowd, and not to try too, Dad,
is contrary to the spirit of athletics," argued Fred, rather cleverly.
"Besides, one of the best things about athletics, I think, is
the spirit to fight for leadership. That's a useful
lesson---leadership---to carry out into life, isn't it, sir?"
"Yes, it is; you're right about that, son," nodded the lawyer.
"Well, sir, Everett, one of the crack pitchers of national fame,
is over in Duxbridge for the winter. He doesn't go south with
his team for practice until the middle or latter part of February.
Duxbridge is only twelve miles from here. He could come over
here, or you could let your man take me over to Duxbridge in your
auto. Dad, I want to be the pitcher of the crack battery in the
school nine. Will you engage Everett, or let me hire him, to
train me right from the start in all the best styles of pitching?"
"How much would it cost?" asked the lawyer, cautiously.
"I don't know exactly, sir. A few hundred dollars, probably."
Fred's face was glowing with eagerness. His mother, who was standing
just behind him, nodded encouragingly at her husband.
"Well, yes, Fred, if you're sure you can make yourself the star
pitcher of the school nine, I will."
"When may I go to see Everett, sir?" asked Fred, making no effort
to conceal the great joy this promise had given him.
"Since you're to be engaged for this afternoon, Fred, we'll make
it to-morrow. I'll order out the car and go over to Duxbridge
with you.".
It was in the happiest possible frame of mind, for him, that Fred
Ripley went back to the High School that afternoon. He didn't
arrive until five minutes before the hour for calling the meeting;
he didn't care to be of the common crowd that would be on hand
at or soon after two-thirty.
When he entered, he found a goodly and noisy crowd of some eighty
High School boys of the three upper classes present. Ripley nodded
to a few with whom he was on the best terms.
Settees had been placed at one end of the gym. There was an aisle
between two groups of these seats.
"Gentlemen, you'll please come to order, now," called out Coach
Luce, mounting to a small platform before the seats.
It took a couple of minutes to get the eager, half-turbulent throng
seated in order. Then the coach rapped sharply, and instantly
all was silence, save for the voice of the speaker.
"Gentlemen," announced Mr. Luce, "it is the plan to make the next
season the banner one in baseball in all our school's history.
This will call for some real work, for constantly sustained effort.
Every man who goes into the baseball training squad will be expected
to do his full share of general gymnastic work here, and to improve
every favorable chance for such cross-country running and other
outdoor sports as may be ordered.
"To-day, as we are so close to Christmas, we will arrange only
the general details---have a sort of mapping-out, as it were.
But immediately after the holidays the entire baseball squad
that enrolls will be required to start at once to get in general
athletic condition. There will be hard---what some may call
grilling---gym. work at the outset, and much of the gym. work
will be kept up even after the actual ball practice begins.
"Early in February work in the baseball cage must begin, and it
will be made rather severe this year. In fact, I can assure you
that the whole training, this coming year, will be something that
none but those who mean to train in earnest can get through with
successfully.
"Any man who is detected smoking cigarettes or using tobacco in
any form, will be dropped from the squad instantly. Every man
who enrolls will be required to make a promise to abstain, until
the end of the ball season, from tobacco in any form.
"In past years we have often been urged to adopt the training
table, in order that no greedy man may eat himself out of physical
condition. It is not, of course, feasible to provide such a table
here at the gym. I wish it were. But we will have training table
to just this extent: Every member of the squad will be handed
a list of the things he may eat or drink, and another list of
those things that are barred. The only exception, in the way
of departure, from the training list, will be the Christmas dinner.
Every man who enrolls is in honor bound to stick closely to his
list of permissible foods until the end of the training season.
"Remember, this year's work is to be one of the hardest work and
all the necessary self-denial. It must be a disciplined and sustained
effort for excellence and victory. Those who cannot accept these
principles in full are urged not to enroll in the squad at all.
"Now, I will wait five minutes, during which conversation will
be in order. When I call the meeting to order again I will ask
all who have decided to enter the squad to occupy the seats here
at my right hand, the others to take the seats at my left hand."
Immediately a buzz of talk ran around that end of the gym. The
High School boys left their seats and moved about, talking over
the coach's few but pointed remarks.
"How do you like Mr. Luce's idea, Dick?" asked Tom Reade.
"It's good down to the ground, and all the way up again," Dick
retorted, enthusiastically. "His ideas are just the ideas I'm
glad to hear put forward. No shirking; every effort bent on excelling,
and every man to keep his own body as strong, clean and wholesome
as a body can be kept. Why, that alone is worth more than victory.
It means a fellow's victory over all sloth and bad habits!"
"Luce meant all he said, too, and the fellows know he did," declared
Dave Darrin. "I wonder what effect it will have on the size of
the squad?"
There was a good deal of curiosity on that score. The five minutes
passed quickly. Then Coach Luce called for the division. As
the new baseball squad gathered at the right-hand seats there
was an eager counting.
"Forty-nine," announced Greg Holmes, as soon as he had finished
counting. "Five whole nines and a few extras left over."
"I'm glad to see that Gridley High School grit is up to the old
standard," declared Coach Luce, cheerily, after he had brought
them to order. "Our squad, this year, contains three more men
than appeared last year. It is plain that my threats haven't
scared anyone off the Gridley diamond. Now, I am going to write
down the names of the squad. Then I will ask each member, as
his name is called, to indicate the position for which he wishes
to qualify."
There was a buzz of conversation again, until the names had all
been written down. Then, after Coach Luce had called for silence,
he began to read off the names in alphabetical order.
"Dalzell?" asked the coach, when he had gone that far down on
the list.
"First base," answered Dan, loudly and promptly.
"Darrin?"
"Pitcher," responded Dave.
There was a little ripple of surprise. When a sophomore goes
in for work in the box it is notice that he has a good opinion
of his abilities.
A few more names were called off. Then:
"Hazelton?"
"Short stop," replied Harry, coolly.
"Whew!" An audible gasp of surprise went up and traveled around.
After the battery, the post of short stop is the swiftest thing
for which to reach out.
"Holmes?"
"Left field."
"It's plain enough," sneered Fred Ripley to the fellow beside
him, "that Dick & Co., reporters and raga-muffins, expect to be
two thirds of the nine. I wonder whom they'll allow to hold the
other three positions?"
Several more names were called off. Then came:
"Prescott?"
"Pitcher," Dick answered, quietly.
A thrill of delight went through Fred. This was more luck than
he had hoped for. What great delight there was going to be in
beating out Dick Prescott!
"Reade?"
"Second base."
"Ripley?"
"P-p-pitcher!" Fred fairly stuttered in his eagerness to get the
word out emphatically. In fact, the word left him so explosively
that several of the fellows caught themselves laughing.
"Oh, laugh, then, hang you all!" muttered Fred, in a low voice,
glaring all around him. "But you don't know what you're laughing
at. Maybe I won't show you something in the way of real pitching!"
"The first Tuesday after the holidays' vacation the squad will
report here for gymnastic work from three-thirty to five," called
the coach. "Now, I'll talk informally with any who wish to ask
questions."
Fred Ripley's face was aglow with satisfaction. His eyes fairly
glistened with his secret, inward triumph.
"So you think you can pitch, Prescott?" he muttered to himself.
"Humph! With the great Everett training me for weeks, I'll
make you look like a pewter monkey, Dick Prescott."