The Grammar School Boys of Gridley | Page 3

"I'm pretty sure I could, yes, sir," answered Dick, with great
promptness. "Only--I don't believe I'm big enough yet!"
There was a moment's hush. Then the class caught the spirit of the
answer. A few titters sounded, cautiously--to be followed instantly by
an explosion of laughter. Even Old Dut had to join in the laugh.
"That young man will bear watching," thought the principal grimly.
"He's my best pupil, and one of the most mischievous. I'd rather have
any youngster mischievous than stupid."

Glancing at the clock, Principal Jones swung around, running a finger
down a line of push buttons in the wall back of his seat. In this fashion
did he announce to the schoolrooms of the seven lower grades that
morning recess time had come. Then he swung back.
"Attention, class!" he called. Tap! sounded a bell. The eighth-grade
boys and girls rose, standing by their seats.
Tap! At the second bell the lines filed out in orderly fashion to the
coatrooms, at the sides of the schoolroom.
But many of the young people soon came back. It was raining heavily
outdoors on this September morning. True, the boys' and girls'
basements served as playrooms in bad weather, but the basements were
always crowded at such times, and many of the young people preferred
to pass the recess time in the schoolroom.
"Old Dut's getting rather too fresh these days," growled Greg Holmes
to his chum. Then whispered in Dick's ear:
"We'll get hunk with him to-night. Some of us will go around and play
the wreck scene in his flower gardens."
"Nothing doing," retorted Dick briefly.
"I know a good one," whispered Dave Darrin, his dark eyes flashing
with anticipated mischief. "We'll switch Old Dut's new gate off and
play Moses in the bulrushes at the river bank."
"Say," demanded Dick, gazing curiously at his tempters, "since when
have you thought I don't know enough to pay back my own grudges!"
"Have you got a scheme?" demanded Tom Reade eagerly, while Harry
Hazelton and Dan Dalzell, sure that Dick had a "corker" of a scheme,
grinned as happily as though they had already seen it put through with
a rush.
"Have you got a scheme?" insisted Dave.

"Maybe," replied Dick evasively.
"Any of you fellows going down to the basement?" asked Hazelton
after a moment.
"What's the use?" questioned Dick. "Tramp down three flights of stairs,
and then climb the flights again in ten minutes."
With that Dick sauntered into the schoolroom. Old Dut was seated at
his desk, a half dozen of the girls standing about, eating apples or
candy, and talking with the principal.
"Only girls over there by Prin's desk," thought Dick with some
dissatisfaction. He wandered about for a few minutes, but at last went
up to Old Dut's desk as though being reluctantly drawn there by some
magnet.
"Get next," nudged Dave Darrin, poking Hazelton in the side. As Dave
sauntered over to the desk Harry followed. Tom Reade seemed
interested in the scene. Greg Holmes and Dan Dalzell strolled over, arm
in arm.
Seeing such an invasion of boys, the girls gave back for a few feet,
though they did not quit the scene.
"Funny the Detroits didn't win the championship this year, isn't it?"
Dick asked innocently.
"The Detroits haven't any show," returned Darrin half disgustedly.
"They've got nearly a month to play yet, but the Detroits are no good
this year."
"If all the Detroits were in a class with Pendleton, their new pitcher,
this year," Dick contended, "the Detroits would show class enough."
Old Dut looked up with interest. A thoroughly skilled and capable
teacher, he had always believed in encouraging sports and athletics.
"That Pendleton fellow is more than a wonder with a ball," Dick went

on warmly. "I saw him pitch a game against the New Yorks this
summer, and I dreamed about it for a week after."
"What's Pendleton's strong point?" followed up Dave Darrin.
"Everything in the pitching line," Dick answered.
"But what is his best point of all, Prescott?" broke in Old Dut.
Even that experienced school principal had tumbled into the trap that
Dick Prescott had so ingeniously laid for him.
"Well, sir," replied Dick, wheeling around to the principal, every trace
of resentment gone from his young face, "I should say that Pendleton's
most noticeable trick is the way he twists and handles the ball when
he's getting ready to drive in his curve. I watched Pendleton's work that
day, and I think I stole the principle on which he uses his right wrist."
"Show me," unsuspiciously invited Old Dut.
Dick started to curve an imaginary ball in his right hand, then glanced
over the principal's desk. A small, but thick, heavy book lay there.
"Well, I should say," Prescott resumed, "that Pendleton handles