Already the South Grammar boys were on the field, practicing by
way of warming up.
"Hello! Here come the bluebells!" yelled a group of South Grammar
fans and rooters.
"Blue? You bet they'll be blue when the game is over!"
"Hey, Prescott! What'll you take for the letters on your shirt?"
"Gimme that yellow curl over your forehead? I saw it first."
"Oh, my, don't the Little Boys Blue look sweet?"
In silence the Central players marched by their tormentors. Dick
gazed across the field to see Ted Teall swinging a bat at the
home plate.
"Teall!" called Dick, as he and the others dropped their jackets
at the batters' benches.
"Hello!" returned Ted. "I'm glad to see that you fellows really
had the nerve to come to-day."
"I saw you doing some pretty wild batting, Teall," laughed Dick
Prescott. "That kind of work won't save you when I get started.
Shall I throw you in a few real ones---hard ones---before we
get at it in earnest?"
"Go on!" retorted Ted scornfully.
"Oh, I won't hurt you," Prescott promised.
"You bet you won't," boasted Teall.
"He's afraid, even before the game starts," jeered a group of
Central Grammar boys. "That's right, Ted. Guard your life."
"Don't be afraid, Teall," Dick urged tantalizingly.
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