"Yes, we can," insisted Hi. "I'll tell you what to boiler just the instant that Teall picks up the stick and Prescott starts to twist the ball."
Ted, all unsuspicious, and believing that he had stilled his own band of teasing torments, picked up his bat and went to the plate.
"Put it over the robbers, Ted!" came from Hi Martin's crowd. "Don't be afraid of the Centrals—-the fellows who stole their uniforms from a lunatic in the woods."
Dick heard the senseless taunt and understood it. But it didn't anger or confuse him. Instead, the ball left his hand with surer guidance.
But a crowd of Central fans also heard, and imagined that the yell came from one of the groups of Souths.
"Bang! bang!" yelled a lot of Central Grammar boys with enthusiasm.
"Ow-ow-ow! Ow-ow-ow!" came the response.
"Strike one!" called the umpire. Ted, his face crimson and his eyes flashing fire, threw his bat from him.
"Teall, pick up your bat," ordered the umpire. "If you do that again I'll order you from the game."
"I don't care if you do!" trembled on Ted's lips, but he caught the words in time. He gulped, swallowed hard, hesitated, then went tremulously to pick up his stick. However, his grit was gone for the day. He struck out and retired.