TED TEALL FACES THE STORM
The game had gone into the third inning, with the Centrals retired
from the bat and the Souths now in from the field.
In the second inning Greg, backed splendidly by Tom and Dick,
had scored a run for his side---the only run listed as yet.
In this third inning, with South Grammar now at the bat, two men
were out, and one on second when Ted Teall stepped to the plate.
"Put a real slam over on 'em, Ted!" shouted a South fan.
"Drive a ball over into Stayton and then fill up the score card
while the Centrals are looking for it!" advised another Teall
partisan.
"Centrals?" jeered another boy from the South. Grammar. "Centrals?
Show 'em they're just plain hello-girls!"
Ted grinned broadly at this "hello-girls" nickname. Just then
another fan from the southern part of Gridley piped up:
"Ted, eat 'em. They're only nine pieces of blue cheese!"
That was going too far, and it was time for Central Grammar to
take notice effectively.
"Bang!" roared one half of the Central fans.
"Ow-ow-ow!" yelled the other half of the Central boosters, leaping
up into the air.
Even Ted Teall had to laugh at this mortifying reminder of his
terror when he had struck the torpedo ball. The next instant
his face went deep red, for everyone on the field appeared to
be laughing and jeering at him.
"Confound Prescott and his tricks!" muttered Teall under his breath.
"It'll take a lot of thinking for me to get even with that trick."
Whizz-zz! went the ball by Ted's body, just below shoulder-high.
"Strike one!" called the umpire sharply.
"Centrals will get me rattled with that bang-ow-ow! of theirs
every time they spring it on me," thought Ted savagely.
"Strike two!"
Again Ted had failed to realize that the ball was coming. In
his anger be wondered whether he'd rather throw his bat at the
umpire or at smiling Dick Prescott.
"Strike three!" called the umpire's steady voice. "Side out."
Then Ted, in sheer exasperation, did hurl his bat a score of feet
away.
"Bang!" came in a volley of Central voices.
"Ow-ow-ow!" wailed the other half of Old Dut's boys while the
North Grammars joined in.
"Go it, you boobs!" muttered Ted, shaking his fist at the spectators.
"Hurrah!" cheered Spoff Henderson from the subs' bench. "We know
how to stop Ted Teall's mouth now!"
Teall happened to hear the remark.
"Oh, you fellows are a lot of boobies!" sputtered Ted wrathfully.
"Anyway," Toby Ross leered back at him, "we're not so young that
we yell when we hit a ball by mistake."
In the fourth and fifth innings the Central Grammars, though they
booked some base hits, did not succeed in getting any runs through.
However, they succeeded in preventing Teall's nine from scoring,
which kept the score still at one to nothing. In the first half
of the sixth Harry Hazelton was brought home from third by a good
one by Dan. Then the side went out. In this inning Teall again
had a chance at bat. Before batting he stalked over to where
a lot of his schoolfellows were grouped and muttered:
"Don't you fellows shoot any funny remarks in this inning. Keep
quiet."
"Huh!" shot out one of the boys. "What's the matter with you, Ted?"
"No matter. But I don't want any funny line of talk steered over
to the Centrals to-day."
"Seems to me you've changed a lot, Ted," grinned one of his classmates.
"Yesterday afternoon you put us up to a lot of funny things to
holler to-day."
"Forget 'em," ordered Ted.
"Dick Prescott certainly stabbed you with that torpedo," grinned
another South. "Ted, your nerve is gone for to-day."
"Don't get too funny with me, or I'll see you after the game,"
threatened Teall, as he stalked away, for he was now on deck,
and due to go next to bat.
The second man for the Souths struck out.
"Teall at bat!" called the score-keeper.
Hi Martin and a lot of the North Grammar boys had come to the
field late. Hi didn't like to see the score two to nothing in
favor of the Centrals. He would have preferred to have the Souths
win.
"Let's get Prescott rattled?" whispered Martin.
"I don't believe you can do it," replied Bill Rodgers. "Prescott
is a mighty cool one."
"Yes, we can," insisted Hi. "I'll tell you what to boiler just
the instant that Teall picks up the stick and Prescott starts
to twist the ball."
Ted, all unsuspicious, and believing that he had stilled his own
band of teasing torments, picked up his bat and went to the plate.
"Put it over the robbers, Ted!" came from Hi Martin's crowd.
"Don't be afraid of the Centrals---the fellows who stole their
uniforms from a lunatic in the woods."
Dick heard the senseless taunt and understood it. But it didn't
anger or confuse him. Instead, the ball left his hand with surer
guidance.
But a crowd of Central fans also heard, and imagined that the
yell came from one of the groups of Souths.
"Bang! bang!" yelled a lot of Central Grammar boys with enthusiasm.
"Ow-ow-ow! Ow-ow-ow!" came the response.
"Strike one!" called the umpire. Ted, his face crimson and his
eyes flashing fire, threw his bat from him.
"Teall, pick up your bat," ordered the umpire. "If you do that
again I'll order you from the game."
"I don't care if you do!" trembled on Ted's lips, but he caught
the words in time. He gulped, swallowed hard, hesitated, then
went tremulously to pick up his stick. However, his grit was
gone for the day. He struck out and retired.
"Ow-ow-ow!" yelled a few of the Central fans in the eighth, and
Dave Darrin struck a two bagger, bringing Prescott in safe from
second, scoring a third run and landing Darrin on second. Had
not Ross struck out immediately afterward there would have been
other runs scored. The count was now three to nothing in favor
of the Central Grammars.
"Prescott's fellows are playing some ball," declared Bill Rodgers.
"Hub! You mean that the Souths don't know how to play," sneered
Hi Martin.
"Teall's fellows are playing well," argued Rodgers. "If you watch,
you'll see that the luck of the Centrals depends a lot on the
way they run the bases. Whew! They go like greased lightning
when they're sprinting around the diamond."
"Well, why shouldn't they run?" demanded Hi. "Prescott and his
fellows have been running every day since the snow went away."
"I wish our Norths had been running all the time, too," sighed
Bill.
The Souths were playing desperately well in the field. Dick's
side came in for the ninth, but did not succeed in getting another
run.
"Now, watch 'em closely, fellows," counseled Dick, as, from the
benches, he started his men out to the field. "The Souths are
mad and game, and they may get runs enough in this last half to
beat us. Play, all the time, as if you didn't know what it was
to be tired. Keep after 'em!"
Dick struck the first South Grammar fellow out. The next man
at bat took first on called balls. The next hit a light fly that
was good for a base. The player who followed sent a bunt that
Dave, as short-stop, fumbled. And now the bases were full.
"Oh, you Ted!" wailed the South fans hopefully. "Do your duty
now, Teall!"
Ted gripped the bat, stepping forward. As he reached the plate
he shot at his schoolmates a look of grim resolution.
"I'll bring those three fellows in, if I have to kill the ball,
or drive it through a fielder!" muttered Ted resolutely. "If
we can tie the score then we can break this fearful hoodoo and
win the game yet."
"Don't let that pitcher scare you, Ted!" yelled a South encouragingly.
"He hasn't a wing any longer. It's only a fin."
"Codfish fin, at that," mocked another.
"Bang!" retorted a dozen Central fans.
Before the answering chorus could come Dick Prescott held up a
hand, looking sternly at his sympathizers.
"Strike one!" called the umpire, and once more Teall reddened.
"I've got to brace, and work myself out of this," groaned red-faced
Teall. "There's too much depending on me."
"Ball one!"
"Now, I hope the next one will be good, and that I can hit it
a crack that will drive it into the next county," muttered Ted,
feeling the cold sweat beading his forehead.
He judged wrongly, on a drop ball.
"Strike two!"
"Drive a plum into that pudding in the box, Ted," sang out one
of his classmates.
"Ow-ow-ow!" shrieked a score of watching Central Grammar boys.
That was the last straw. Ted felt the blood rush to his head
and all looked red before him.
"Strike three! Side out! Game!" came slowly, steadily from the
umpire. Then the score-keeper rose to his feet.
"Central Grammar wins by a score of three to nothing."
This time Ted Teall didn't throw his bat. Gripping it savagely,
he stalked over to a group of his own schoolmates.
"What fellow was it that started the yelling?" demanded Ted huskily.
"Why?" challenged three or four of the Souths.
"I want to know who he is---that's all," muttered Ted.
In a moment there was a mix-up. But Teall wasn't popular at that
moment. A captain who had led his men into a whitewash was entitled
to no very great consideration.
"Let go of that bat!" roared Ted, as he felt it seized. "Let
go, or I'll hit some one with it."
"That's what he wants to do anyway," called out one of the boys.
"Yank it away from him!"
The bat torn from him, Ted Teall was fighting mad. He was so
ugly, in fact, that he was borne to the ground, three of his own
classmates sitting on him.
"You're all right, Ted," announced one of his classmates. "All
that ails you is that you've got a touch of heat. Cool off and
we'll let you up."
"There's one guyer who has lost his hold on his favorite pastime
of annoying other people," remarked Tom Reade grimly.
"Dick's trick was the slickest that ever I saw done in that line,"
chuckled Dave Darrin. "But I wonder how our fellows tumbled to
the idea of calling 'bang' first, and then following it up with
'ow-ow-ow'?"
"Want to know very badly?" Tom questioned.
"I surely do," Darry nodded.
"Well, then," Tom declared, "I put some of the fellows up to that
trick."