The Grammar School Boys in Summer Athletics Part 32

Teall began to feel little tremors running all up and down his spine.

"Steady, you idiot!" he warned himself.

"Ball one!"

Captain Teall began to feel better. Perhaps d.i.c.k's arm was beginning to grow stale.

"Strike three. Out!"

Ted started for the bench, hurling his bat before him. He was full of self-disgust.

"A fellow never can guess when he has d.i.c.k thrashed," he said to a South beside him.

"I didn't expect to see you play out before him in the ninth, Ted," replied the cla.s.smate.

"Neither did I," muttered Teall gloomily.

"Strike three! Out!" sounded Umpire Tozier's droning voice.

Then Ted sat up straight, rubbing his eyes.

"Two out, and no one on bases!" groaned Ted. "Oh, fellows---those of you who have a chance---do something. For goodness' sake, do something to save South Grammar."

A few agonized moments pa.s.sed while those at the batting benches looked on at the fellow now performing by the plate.

"Strike three! Out!" remarked Ben Tozier decisively. Then the game was given to the Central Grammar boys by a score of five to four. The championship of the local Grammar League was also awarded them.

Ted gulped down hard. Some of his fellows looked decidedly mad.

"It's a shame!" choked Wells.

"No; it isn't, either," Ted disputed. "d.i.c.k Prescott and his fellows beat us fairly. Come on we'll congratulate 'em."

Good sportsman that he was, Ted almost limped across the field, followed by some of his players, to where d.i.c.k and the other Central Grammar players were surrounded by their friends.

"Prescott, you fellows are wonders!" broke forcefully from Captain Ted.

"Nothing like it," Captain d.i.c.k laughed modestly. "Some one had to win, you know, and the luck came to us."

"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 d.i.c.k Prescott, trying to get at his hand and wring it.

"Please don't fellows," begged d.i.c.k, 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. "d.i.c.k told me to kill his arm, if I had to, but to signal for the b.a.l.l.s that would strike out three batsmen in lightning order."

"The left hand, then!" clamored more of d.i.c.k'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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.kens 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.

Human nature---of the American brand, at any rate---dearly loves a bonfire. By dark that evening some two hundred grown-up and several hundred Gridley boys had congregated on the late ball field.

"Touch it off, some one. There's no use in waiting any longer,"

urged some of the bystanders. "It's almost dark."

"No, no! Wait!" urged Tom Reade. "The blaze will be all the finer after dark."

"Where's d.i.c.k Prescott?" sounded a voice, this being followed by a dinning clamor for the captain of the Centrals.

"Here!" called d.i.c.k, when he could make himself heard.