"I couldn't see the ball at all, but I knew that it was
up to me to do something."
"How do you feel now, Chromos?" bawled Ted Teall at the beginning
of the seventh.
The score was now three to two in favor of Central Grammar.
It was still there when the seventh ended, and also at the finish
of the eighth. Then the North Grammars went to bat for the first
half of the ninth.
"You fellows simply must do something---do a lot," had been Hi's
almost tearful urging as be addressed his fellows at the bench.
It was Bill Rodgers who stood before him as Dick twirled the ball,
awaiting Greg's signal, which came a second later---a drop ball.
Bill swung for it, then looked foolish. Two more bad guesses,
and he was out.
A second man was soon out, and then a third. Not one of the trio
had been able to judge Dick's ball.
Central Grammar had won the first game by the close score of three
to two. That, however, was as good for all purposes as any other
could possibly be.
"What ails you Norths?" amiably remarked Ted Teall. "Is it the
gayness of your uniforms? The red gets in your eyes and keeps
you from seeing the ball."
"You're not funny," glowered Hi Martin. "You're merely a clown."
"Wait until my nine plays yours," retorted Teall genially.
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