NORTH GRAMMARS PLAY REAL BALL
"Say, dress a kid up swell, and send him on the street---did you
ever know him to be any good?" demanded Ted Teall scornfully of
those who stood near him. "Well, that's what ails the Centrals.
They're wearing a bale of glad dry goods and they can't keep
their eyes off their togs long enough to find the ball."
Dick and Dave heard this as they went to grass at the end of the
third inning.
So far, though the Centrals had made some bases, none of their
players had succeeded in scoring at the plate. One of Hi Martin's
players had scored a run in the first inning and another in the
third.
"Teall is a torment, isn't he?" whispered Dick.
"He is now," muttered Dave. "He won't be after this game is finished."
"Why not?"
"I'm going to trim some of the funny talk out of him after the game."
"Don't do anything foolish, Dave," urged Dick.
"That won't be foolish. It's necessary."
"Don't do it, Dave, or even think of it. You'll give the Centrals
the name of not being able to stand defeat."
Then Dick ran over to the box to begin pitching for the fourth
inning. His arm had not given out. Prescott had been doing some
pretty good pitching, and Greg had backed him up well. But the
North Grammars had a few batsmen who seemed to guess the ball
in advance.
"Hey, Mr. Umpire," shouted a boyish onlooker, as Dick faced the
plate, ball in hand, "better call the game and let the Centrals
play some weak primary school team."
Even at this cheap witticism there was considerable laughter.
It made Dick's face flush.
"I'll show 'em whether we can play or not," he muttered to himself,
as he caught the signal from Greg. "We've got to start, too,
for we've got to match those two runs and then pick up this game
for our own."
Hi Martin was again at the plate. He swung his bat idly, grinning
mockingly at Prescott.
"I'll let you off without trying, if you'll give me second base,"
offered Hi tantalizingly.
"If the batsman talks again he will be ordered off the grounds,"
declared Umpire Tozier sternly.
But Dick felt the sting of his opponent's taunt and longed to
be even. Greg signaled for a drop ball---a difficult one for
a schoolboy to throw. It was the first time in the game that
Greg had asked for this.
Dick "made up" the ball with extra care, then let it go. It looked
like a chest-high ball as it came, and was so slow that Hi threw
back his bat to slam it.
"A home run on this!" thought Hi exultantly.
From the sides of the field came a mocking laugh, for the ball
had dropped, leaving Hi pounding wildly at the air.
"Strike one!" called Ben Tozier, slipping a pebble to his other
hand.
Dick smiled quietly as the ball came back to him. Greg signaled
for an outshoot. But Dick "made up" the ball and imitated his
delivery of the throw before.
"I'll get down and get it, this time!" flashed Martin resentfully.
He did, only to find himself no nearer the ball than before.
"Strike two!"
Tittering came from the sides now, also some applause. The spectators
had just begun to understand that Dick Prescott was pitching better
ball.
"Ball one!"
Hi felt a bit better for a moment. Then:
"Strike three! Out!"
With a muttered growl of disgust, Captain Martin gave up his post
to Percival.
"What has got into Prescott?" demanded Rodgers, of the Norths,
anxiously.
"Oh, we'll pound him to pieces soon," muttered Hi.
"Strike one!" sounded the umpire's steady, low voice.
In a moment or two more it was: "Strike three. Out!"
Then a third batsman took post. Dick Prescott, his face now flushed
with pleasure, not humiliation, and his eyes flashing battle,
put the third man out for the Norths.
Yet, though the Central Grammars put two of their men on bases,
they, too, went back to grass ere a run could be scored.
The fifth inning was almost a duplicate of the fourth; no ground
gained. In the sixth, after having two men struck out, the Norths
took two base hits away from Prescott, and had men on first and
second. In an unwary moment for the Centrals the man at second
made third just ahead of the ball.
"We'll have a third run in a moment, if our boys keep their heads,"
murmured Hi Martin confidently. "That will keep us at three to
nothing."
At that instant Dick delivered a ball that the North batsman tapped,
but just hard enough to drive it for a fair catch into Prescott's
hands.
"You idiot!" glared Martin at the offender, as the Norths took
the field.
However, all predictions were still in favor of the North Grammars,
who had two runs put away while they had kept Prescott's men from
scoring.
"Fellows, we've got to do something, and we must make it strong!"
muttered Dick, as his side came in.
Reade went to bat---was struck out.
"That wasn't very strong," sighed Tom, as he passed Dick going
to the plate.
Dick Prescott had his favorite bat in his hand. He gripped it
a little harder for an instant, then relaxed and waited for Hi's
puzzling delivery.
"Strike one!"
Dick swung for the next one that came. Almost mechanically Tozier
opened his mouth to call:
"Stri-----"
But Dick's willow cut in with a "whack!"
"Woof! Whoop!" Central boys among the spectators sent up an expectant
yell, then watched breathlessly. Was the luck about to change?
"Go it! Go it! Go it!" yelled the Central boys in three different
pitches of enthusiasm.
Dick, as he struck first and turned, took a fleeting look at the
North's right fielder, still in pursuit of the long fly that had
gone by him and was rolling over the field. Then, straining lungs and
nerves, Dick sprinted toward the second bag.
"Go it! Hustle!"
Behind him Dick heard the whistle of the coming ball. Just ahead
of him was the plate. He took a long leap, then slid. Second
baseman held up the ball in his right hand.
"Safe, safe!" yelled the gleeful Central spectators.
"Out! That was out!" hoarsely declared the boosters for the North
Grammars.
"Safe at second," called Ben Tozier steadily.
"Oh, you ape of an umpire!" grunted Hi Martin disgustedly, as
he mitted the ball from second. For an instant he watched Dick,
who was edging away from second. Then he turned to send in a
drive past Greg, who now hovered over the plate.
Greg Holmes went to two strikes and three balls, Hi all the time
alertly watching Prescott at second.
Crack! And now Greg was running. Norths' left-fielder muffed
the ball, then recovered and threw like a flash to third. But
Dick was there a shade of a second ahead of the leather.
"Safe" declared the umpire.
Hi Martin flashed a warning look at the catcher for his nine,
then sent a sweeping glare around the bases. Greg and Dick smiled
sweetly back.
"Play ball!" ordered Umpire Tozier.
Dan Dalzell was now at bat, tingling with anxiety, though his
grin seemed a yard wide.
"Oh, you Danny Grin! Eat the leather!" appealed a Central rooter
from the side.
Dan grinned again, his look seeming to say, "Watch me!"
Two strikes, with no called balls. Dick, dancing away from third,
felt himself on tenterhooks. Not all of his perspiration was
due to the heat of the day.
Again Dan offered. Crack! A wild, gleeful whoop went up from
some of the Central rooters, while others held their breath.
The ball went high, and right field came running in for it. As
it happened, the fielder underestimated the length of the flight.
It struck the ground to his rear and rolled. Before the outfielder
could pick it up Dan had kicked the first bag.
"Prescott! Prescott!"
Dick was in, scoring the first run, while Greg was at second,
and Dan hugging first as though he dared not be found two yards
away from that bag.
Henderson now went to bat, accompanied by the grave anxiety of
the members of his nine, for Spoff was not one of the star players.
True to expectations Spoff struck out.
"Do it, Hazelton! You've got to do it!" yelled the Central fans
despairingly. "Don't miss any tricks!"
Harry, however, could find nothing safe to hit at. He took first
on called balls, advancing Greg to third and Dan to second.
Wrecker Lane now swung the willow. On his face was a do-or-die,
dogged expression. Wrecker was not a brilliant player, though
he was one to whom defeat came hard.
"Go after it, Wrecker. Put it over hard! Slam!"
After two strikes and one ball had been called Wrecker let go
in deadly earnest. Bang! The blow split the leather, which went
in an erratic though by no means short course. Greg dashed in
over the plate amid wild cheers. Dan, hotfooting as he had never
before done in his life, crossed the plate also. Wrecker, panting,
reached first, looked at the fielder almost on the ball, sped
on, then prudently turned and make back for first.
Toby Ross now went to bat, and struck out in crisp one-two-three
order.
"Wrecker, that was a bully liner!" glowed Dick, grasping the hand
of the boy who had saved the score in its critical moment. "You
seemed to have Hi Martin's delivery down to a certainty."
"Yes, and it was a wonder, too," confessed Wrecker, still a bit
dazed. "I couldn't see the ball at all, but I knew that it was
up to me to do something."
"How do you feel now, Chromos?" bawled Ted Teall at the beginning
of the seventh.
The score was now three to two in favor of Central Grammar.
It was still there when the seventh ended, and also at the finish
of the eighth. Then the North Grammars went to bat for the first
half of the ninth.
"You fellows simply must do something---do a lot," had been Hi's
almost tearful urging as be addressed his fellows at the bench.
It was Bill Rodgers who stood before him as Dick twirled the ball,
awaiting Greg's signal, which came a second later---a drop ball.
Bill swung for it, then looked foolish. Two more bad guesses,
and he was out.
A second man was soon out, and then a third. Not one of the trio
had been able to judge Dick's ball.
Central Grammar had won the first game by the close score of three
to two. That, however, was as good for all purposes as any other
could possibly be.
"What ails you Norths?" amiably remarked Ted Teall. "Is it the
gayness of your uniforms? The red gets in your eyes and keeps
you from seeing the ball."
"You're not funny," glowered Hi Martin. "You're merely a clown."
"Wait until my nine plays yours," retorted Teall genially. "Then
we'll see who looks more like a clown---you or I."
But now there was time, and Dick Prescott and his fellows had
to tell scores of eager inquirers how they came by their new uniforms,
when they had not expected to have any.
"Just what I thought, or as bad, anyway," muttered Martin when
the news was brought to him. "These muckers couldn't buy their
uniforms, as our fellows did. They had to depend upon charity
to make a good appearance on the field."
"Hold on, there, Martin," angrily objected one of the Central
fans. "I suppose it was charity, too, when you gave our fellows
the game, eh? It was mighty kind of you, too."
"Huh!" retorted Hi. "This is only one game lost, and by a hair's
breadth. Wait until the end of the season, and see who carries
the laurels."
"Prescott, what do these letters mean on your jersey?" asked Ted
Teall, halting and squinting at the golden yellow emblems.
"C.G.?" smiled Dick. "That's for Central Grammar, of course.
But the letters have been put on so that they can be easily changed
around to read G.C."
"What'll that stand for?" quizzed Teall, winking at some of the
other fellows.
"Why, we'll change the letters around after we've played this
series, and then the letters will stand for Grammar Champions."
"Oh, I see," grinned Ted. "My, but that will be kind of you,
to give our fellows the jerseys."
"You haven't won them yet," retorted Dick. "The Centrals will
keep their own jerseys and wear the G.C. by right of conquest."
"Perhaps they will, and perhaps they won't," muttered Hi Martin
angrily to himself and Tom Percival.