"It's enough. Magnificently done," called Coach Luce, after a glance at the two members of the Athletic Committee.
"Oh, you Rip!"
"Good old Rip!"
The cheering commenced again, swelling in volume.
Coach Luce signaled to Dick Prescott, who, coolly, yet with a somewhat pallid face, came forward to the box. He removed the wrapping from a new ball and took his post.
The cheering stopped now. Dick was extremely well liked in Gridley. Most of the spectators felt sorry for this poor young soph, who must make a showing after that phenomenon, Ripley.
"The first two or three don't need to count, Prescott," called
Luce. "Get yourself warmed up."
Fred stood at the side, looking on with a sense of amusement which, for policy's sake, he strove to conceal.
"Great Scott! The nerve of the fellow!" gasped Ripley, inwardly, as he saw Prescott moisten his fingers. "He's going to try the spit-ball after what I've shown!"
The silence grew deeper, for most of the onlookers understood the significance of Dick's moistened fingers.