Chapter 5. North Grammars Play Real Ball

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_ CHAPTER V. 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. _

Read next: Chapter 6. Settling With A Teaser

Read previous: Chapter 4. The Story Of The Uniforms

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