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The Grammar School Boys in Summer Athletics, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 7. Ted Teall Faces The Storm |
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_ CHAPTER VII. 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." _ |
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