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."