"No," decided Coach Luce. "You've done enough, Prescott.
Mr. Darrin!"
Dave ran briskly to the box, opening the wrappings on a new ball as he stepped into the box. After the first two balls Dave's exhibition was swift, certain, fine. He had almost reached Dick with his performance.
Ripley's bewildered astonishment was apparent in his face.
"Thunder, I'd no idea they could do anything like that!" gasped Fred to himself. "They're very nearly as good as I am. How in blazes did they ever get hold of the wrinkles? They can't afford a man like Everett."
"Any more candidates?" called Coach Luce. There weren't. No other fellow was going forward to show himself after the last three who had worked from the box.
There was almost a dead silence, then, while Coach Luce and the two members of the Athletics Committee conferred in whispers. At last the coach stepped forward.
"We have chosen the pitchers!" he shouted. Then, after a pause,
Mr. Luce went on:
"The pitchers for the regular school nine will be Prescott, Darrin,
Ripley, in the order named."
"Oh, you Dick!"
"Bang-up Prescott!"