"Humph!" retorted the High School lad, just before turning away. "Your North Grammar nine was kicked all over the field by both of these nines. Both Prescott's and Teall's fellows have improved a lot since they met you."
Hi subsided, feeling unhappy. It hurt him to hear any one praise a fellow like Prescott.
"I wonder if they could beat us, if we had another try?" pondered Hi. "But what's the use of talking? Prescott would never think of giving us another chance. He's too thankful to have lugged the score away from us before."
In the eighth inning Teall brought in one more run for the Souths, who now led.
"We've got to work mighty hard and carefully," grunted Tom Reade.
"Yes," assented Dick briefly.
"We're beaten, anyway, I guess," sighed Hazelton.
Dick Prescott wheeled upon him almost wrathfully.
"We're never beaten, Harry—-remember that. We don't propose to be beaten, and we can't be. We're going to bat now to pile up a few more runs. The championship is ours, fellows—-don't let that fact escape you."
"I wish I had Dick's confidence," sighed Harry, turning to Reade.