"Well, that's what ails the Centrals.
They're wearing a bale of glad dry goods and they can't keep
their eyes off their togs long enough to find the ball."
Dick and Dave heard this as they went to grass at the end of the
third inning.
So far, though the Centrals had made some bases, none of their
players had succeeded in scoring at the plate. One of Hi Martin's
players had scored a run in the first inning and another in the
third.
"Teall is a torment, isn't he?" whispered Dick.
"He is now," muttered Dave. "He won't be after this game is finished."
"Why not?"
"I'm going to trim some of the funny talk out of him after the game."
"Don't do anything foolish, Dave," urged Dick.
"That won't be foolish. It's necessary."
"Don't do it, Dave, or even think of it. You'll give the Centrals
the name of not being able to stand defeat."
Then Dick ran over to the box to begin pitching for the fourth
inning. His arm had not given out. Prescott had been doing some
pretty good pitching, and Greg had backed him up well. But the
North Grammars had a few batsmen who seemed to guess the ball
in advance.
"Hey, Mr. Umpire," shouted a boyish onlooker, as Dick faced the
plate, ball in hand, "better call the game and let the Centrals
play some weak primary school team.
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