“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.