“Well, that’s the truth,” protested Brown, with a mock air of injured innocence.  “I’m a traveling salesman for the Haynes Sporting Goods Company, one of the biggest baseball outfitting companies in this part of the country.  It’s my business to travel and take orders.”

“But we didn’t give you any orders,” gasped Dave.

“Some one did,” laughed Mr. Brown.

“Who did?” blurted Tom Reade.

“Did you, Mr. Jones?” cried Dick.

“Not I,” laughed the principal.  “But I’ll tell you, boys, who did.  Prescott, you remember Mr. Winthrop, who is acting for Colonel Garwood in trying to find the latter’s son?  Amos Garwood hasn’t yet been found, but Mr. Winthrop is satisfied that they are close at his heels, and that they will soon find him.  Colonel Garwood is a very wealthy old man, and very fond of his missing son.  Mr. Winthrop inquired how he could best serve the boys who had brought him the first word.  Some one, I believe it was Len Spencer, the ‘Blade’ reporter, told about your not having uniforms.  Mr. Winthrop wired the Haynes Company, placing an order for the best of uniforms, provided they could be finished to be delivered this afternoon.  And here they are.”

“When do you youngsters play?” called out Brown laughingly.  “To-day or some other day?”

“I would recommend you to make good time,” Old Dut urged.  “You don’t want to start the season by being late, do you.  Besides the North Grammar boys might then claim the game by default.”

That was enough to set Dick Prescott and his dazed comrades at work in earnest.

The uniforms were of blue, and of fine texture.  Even baseball shoes had been provided.  The stockings were blue.  Then came the trousers.  The blue jersey shirts bore proudly in front two golden letters each, “C.G.”  This inscription stood, of course, for “Central Grammar.”  Then there were coats of blue, to slip on over the jersey shirts; caps of blue and belts of blue, the latter edged with golden yellow to match the shirt initials.

Besides there were a catcher’s mask, gloves for the different field players, half a dozen baseballs and an even dozen of bats.

“Finish dressing as quickly as you can,” urged Old Dut.  “Your time is slipping away.”

At last they were ready.  Carrying masks, bats, gloves, they fell in by twos, Principal Jones marching them from the building, along the street and into the field where their arrival had created such a furor.

Yet, excited as he was, Dick had not forgotten to ask both Mr. Brown and Old Dut not to fail to express their deepest thanks to Mr. Winthrop and to Colonel Garwood.

Ben Tozier, of the High School baseball nine, had been accepted as umpire for the day.  He now came forward to meet Captain Dick’s company.

“My, but you youngsters look about the finest ever,” announced Ben.  “I hope you can play as well as you look.  Captain Prescott, do you claim any time for practice?”