"I haven't. I'm better than either of them!" bawled Fred, hoarsely,
for the cheering was still on and he had to make himself heard.

"No use, Ripley," spoke up a member of the Athletics Committee.
"You're third, and that's good enough, for we never before had
such a pitching triumvirate."

"Where did these fellows ever learn to pitch to beat me?" jeered
Fred, angrily. "They had no such trainer. Until he went south
with his own team, I was trained by-----"

Fred paused suddenly. Perhaps he had better not tell too much,
after all.

The din from the seats had now died down.

"Well, Ripley, who trained you?" asked a member of the Athletics
Committee.

Fred bit his lip, but Dick broke in quietly:

"I can tell. Perhaps a little confession will be good for us
all around. Ripley was trained by Everett over at Duxbridge.
I found out that much, weeks ago."

"You spy!" hissed Fred angrily, but Dick, not heeding his enemy,
continued:

"The way Ripley started out, the first showing he made, Darrin