"No, it isn't," Prescott retorted. "We fellows from Central are
going to show that uniforms don't necessarily make players. We
don't mind---that is, not very much---the absence of uniforms."
"We'll try to show that we have something uniform about our team
play, and let it go at that," said Dave cheerily. "Come along,
Dick, or we'll be late at school."
Away the pair raced. Lessons went about as usual that afternoon
with Old Dut's class, which was surprising, as nearly every boy
in the room had his mind much on baseball.
Captain Dick Prescott, of the Central Grammar nine, had called
practice for that afternoon, from half past four to six o'clock.
At recess, that afternoon, a pleasant, somewhat rotund-looking
man was seen engaged in conversation with Old Dut in a corner
of the schoolyard. At the close of the afternoon session that
same man stepped into the schoolroom, accepting the principal's
offer of a chair on the platform.
"Attention!" called Old Dut, striking the bell. "I am glad to
be able to state that no pupil has incurred the penalty of remaining
after school to-day. However, I am going to ask the members of
the Central Grammar baseball nine and their substitutes to remain
for a few minutes. I pledge myself not to interfere with the
scheduled practice," continued the principal dryly.
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