“Luck!” exploded Ted unbelievingly.  “Nothing like it, either.  No sheer luck could ever have broken down the cast-iron determination that our fellows had to win.  You Centrals are the real ball players of the town—–­that’s the only answer.”

Whooping wildly in their glee, scores of Central Grammar boys rushed at Dick Prescott, trying to get at his hand and wring it.

“Please don’t fellows,” begged Dick, going almost white under the torment, after three or four boys had succeeded in pumping that arm.  “You’ve no idea how sore my arm is.”

“It must be,” shouted Greg.  “Dick told me to kill his arm, if I had to, but to signal for the balls that would strike out three batsmen in lightning order.”

“The left hand, then!” clamored more of Dick’s admirers.  Laughingly, Prescott submitted to having his left hand “shaken” almost out of joint.

“Don’t make such a fuss about it, fellows,” begged Dick at last.  “Remember that we have a permit for a bonfire on this lot to-night, and that the stuff is piled up in the rear of the next yard.  You fellows who didn’t have to go lame bestir yourselves now in bringing on the old boxes and barrels.”

“Whoops!” yelled a Central Grammar boy, starting off.  “Bring out the stuff and pile it high.”

“Let the Souths help!” bawled Ted Teall at the top of his voice.  “No matter who won, we’ll all celebrate.”

“Ted, you won’t play any funny tricks on that pile of wood?” questioned Dick a bit uneasily, as he followed Captain Teall.

“What do you take me for?” demanded the South Grammar boy.  “Do you think that I’m not on the level?”

“I’m answered,” was Dick Prescott’s satisfied answer.

Ere long the material for a monster bonfire was piled.  Word was given out that it would be set going just a few minutes after dark.

“We came up here to see what we could find to do, didn’t we?” whispered Bert Dodge, nudging Fred Ripley.

“Yes,” nodded Fred uneasily; “and, so far, we haven’t struck a thing that would be safe to do.”

“The dickens we haven’t,” chuckled Dodge.

“What, then?” Fred inquired.  Bert whispered in his ear, adding:  “It won’t cost us more than a dollar apiece, Fred.”

“It’s great,” declared Ripley enthusiastically.  “But we’ve got to move quickly, and at the right minute, or we’ll be caught.  I wouldn’t give much for our chances of comfort if we’re caught in this thing.”

“We won’t be, or we ought not to be,” Dodge retorted.  “But we’d better get home and get our suppers on the jump.”

“We can do better than that; we can get a quick meal at one of the restaurants and then jump back on the job.”

“Rip, you have a great head sometimes,” admitted Bert Dodge.

At a time when every one else was at supper Fred Ripley and Bert Dodge stole back to the scene of the bonfire.  After glancing cautiously about, they felt sure that no one was observing them.  Then they stole close to the pile of combustibles.  For a few moments they worked there, removing lids from tin cans and planting them safely out of sight.