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. "Dick 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 Dick 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 Dick 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 Dick Prescott, trying to get at his hand and wring it.
"Please don't fellows," begged Dick, going almost white under
the torment, after three or four boys had succeeded in pumping
that arm.
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