"Is that the best you can do?" jeered Ted.
"Oh, I've one or two better than that," replied Dick, pretending to feel flustered.
Again Prescott sent in a swift one, and once more Teall sent the leather spinning over the field. Hoots and cat-calls from the Souths filled the air. The Central fans began to look a bit uneasy. What was their champion pitcher doing, to let Teall get away with his deliveries as easily as this?
A third ball Dick drove in, with the same result as before.
"Say, what you fellows need is practice," leered Ted.
"Look out that I don't catch you yet," mocked Dick Prescott, bending to scoop up the returning ball from the ground. Then he wheeled like a flash to confront the batsman.
This time, by a quick substitution, Dick held the home-made ball.
He twirled it for an instant, then sent it in toward the plate.
"Just—-as—-easy!" scoffed Ted, whirling his bat, then reaching out for the ball.
Crack! Teall hit it soundly.
Bang! With such force had the batsman struck that he exploded the large torpedo inside the home-made ball. There was a rattling explosion, and Teall, unable to figure, in that first instant, what had happened, sent the bat flying.