“We’ll go to bat, then,” decided Prescott.  “We might as well begin to pile up the score that we’re going to make.”

“We’ll show you how you’re not going to make it,” Ted grinned.  “Remember, Prescott, that I and Wells are the battery to-day.”

“What you need,” laughed Dick, “is a good right fielder and a star third baseman.”

“Huh!” grunted Teall.

“Get to your places,” ordered Tozier briskly.  “We want to end this game some time to-day.”

The umpire inspected a new ball, then sent it grounding to Teall.  Back and forth between the members of the South Grammar battery the ball passed three times.

“Play ball!” called the umpire sharply.

Tom Reade already stood by the plate.  He swung his stick idly, watching Teall.  Along came the ball.  Tom judged it and hit at it.

“Strike one!” called Tozier, shifting a pebble to his left hand.

Ted grinned derisively as he twisted the leather for the next throw.

“Ball one!” and a bean followed the pebble into the umpire’s left hand.

“Strike two!  Ball two!  Ball three!”

Ted Teall began to feel angry over the growing pile of called balls.  He delivered one with great care.

Whack!  Tom never waited to see whether the ball was headed inside or outside of foul lines.  He simply dropped his willow, then gave his best exhibition of the sprinting that he had learned in the spring.

It was a fair ball that struck inside of left field.  South’s left fielder had to run in for the leather, which struck the ground, then rolled to one side.  Thump!  The ball landed neatly in the first baseman’s hands, but Tom had kicked the bag a second before.

“Runner safe,” drawled Tozier.

Spoff Henderson came next to bat.  Ted, with great care, struck him out.  Toby Ross met with similar disaster, nor did Reade have any chance to steal up to second.  Then Greg advanced to the plate.  He had his own favorite stick, which he swung with great confidence.

“Now, just see what I’ll do to you!” was what Ted Teall’s impudent smile meant.

Crack!  Holmes hit the first ball, reaching first and pushing Tom to second.

“Danny Grin, don’t fail us,” begged Prescott, as Dan started for the plate.  “Two men out, remember!”

As Dalzell faced the pitcher his grin was broader than Teall’s.

Two strikes and two balls were quickly called.  Some of Dalzell’s assurance was gone now, but he steadied himself down.  It would never do to strike out at such a time.

Then Danny Grin made his third strike, but he drove the ball ahead of him, forcing the right fielder of the Souths to run backward for it, but he missed the catch and by the time the ball was in circulation again the bases were full of Central Grammar runners.

“I’m glad you’re going forward,” whispered Dave, just as Dick started towards the plate, his favorite bat in hand.