“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.