"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."
Even at this cheap witticism there was considerable laughter.
It made Dick's face flush.
"I'll show 'em whether we can play or not," he muttered to himself, as he caught the signal from Greg. "We've got to start, too, for we've got to match those two runs and then pick up this game for our own."
Hi Martin was again at the plate. He swung his bat idly, grinning mockingly at Prescott.
"I'll let you off without trying, if you'll give me second base," offered Hi tantalizingly.
"If the batsman talks again he will be ordered off the grounds," declared Umpire Tozier sternly.
But Dick felt the sting of his opponent's taunt and longed to be even. Greg signaled for a drop ball—-a difficult one for a schoolboy to throw. It was the first time in the game that Greg had asked for this.