“I will, if you really think you can throw a ball that will rattle me any,” Teall agreed, grinning broadly.

“Go at him, Dick!”

“Whoop!  Show him what a cheap batter he is.”

Laughing, balancing a ball in his hands, Dick glided out on to the diamond.

“Ready, Ted?  Just see what you can do with one like this,” Dick mocked.

It was a swift ball, but a straight one.  To a batsman of Teall’s skill it was not a difficult one to hit.  Ted swung his bat and gave the ball a crack that sent it far out into outfield.

“Is that the best you can do?” jeered Ted.

“Oh, I’ve one or two better than that,” replied Dick, pretending to feel flustered.

Again Prescott sent in a swift one, and once more Teall sent the leather spinning over the field.  Hoots and cat-calls from the Souths filled the air.  The Central fans began to look a bit uneasy.  What was their champion pitcher doing, to let Teall get away with his deliveries as easily as this?

A third ball Dick drove in, with the same result as before.

“Say, what you fellows need is practice,” leered Ted.

“Look out that I don’t catch you yet,” mocked Dick Prescott, bending to scoop up the returning ball from the ground.  Then he wheeled like a flash to confront the batsman.

This time, by a quick substitution, Dick held the home-made ball.  He twirled it for an instant, then sent it in toward the plate.

“Just—–­as—–­easy!” scoffed Ted, whirling his bat, then reaching out for the ball.

Crack!  Teall hit it soundly.

Bang!  With such force had the batsman struck that he exploded the large torpedo inside the home-made ball.  There was a rattling explosion, and Teall, unable to figure, in that first instant, what had happened, sent the bat flying.

“Ow-ow-ow!” yelled startled Ted, leaping up into the air.  When he alighted he ran a dozen or more steps as fast as he could go, then halted and looked around him.  For an instant Teall’s face expressed panic.

Then mocking laughter from hundreds of throats greeted him.

“I knew any little thing out of the ordinary would rattle you,” smiled Dick.  “Don’t lose your nerve.  It wasn’t anything.”

“Just a fresh idiot’s attempt to be funny!” growled Teall, his face now red with mortification.

“Laugh, Ted, confound you!” urged Tom Reade.  “Laugh!  Don’t be a grouch.”

“What you need, Teall,” teased Dave Darrin, “is some nerve tonic.  You ought not to let yourself get into such bad shape that you almost faint when you hit the ball.”

For once Ted Teall’s ready tongue went back on him.  He could think of nothing to say that would not make him look still more ridiculous.

“I guess he’ll be good, for one game at least,” grimaced Dick as he turned to his teammates.

Chapter VII