“Yes,” nodded several of the boys.

“Well, yesterday, Dad had a lot of samples come in from the manufacturers.  There were a few of the extra big and noisy torpedoes,” Dick explained.  “I got one of them and wrapped this string and leather around it.”

Then, in low tones, Dick confided to his comrades the use to which he hoped to put the ball.  There were a good many grins as the plot dawned on the young diamond enthusiasts.

“That’ll be a warm one, if it works,” grinned Reade.

“Say, but I shall be hanging right around to see it happen,” declared Darrin.

Originally this Saturday game had been scheduled for two in the afternoon.  However, so many of the schoolboys in town wanted to have Saturday afternoon for other fun that the time had been changed to nine in the forenoon.

“Hadn’t we better be starting?” asked Dick, looking at his watch.

“Yes; I want to be in at the death of Teall,” agreed Reade.

All in uniform the Central Grammars started down the street, though this time they did not march.  As they moved along other boys joined them, some from the Central and others from the North Grammar.  By the time that Dick’s nine and substitutes neared the field more than a hundred fans trailed along with them.

Nearly three hundred other boys were walking about on the field, or lying down under the trees.

Already the South Grammar boys were on the field, practicing by way of warming up.

“Hello!  Here come the bluebells!” yelled a group of South Grammar fans and rooters.

“Blue?  You bet they’ll be blue when the game is over!”

“Hey, Prescott!  What’ll you take for the letters on your shirt?”

“Gimme that yellow curl over your forehead?  I saw it first.”

“Oh, my, don’t the Little Boys Blue look sweet?”

In silence the Central players marched by their tormentors.  Dick gazed across the field to see Ted Teall swinging a bat at the home plate.

“Teall!” called Dick, as he and the others dropped their jackets at the batters’ benches.

“Hello!” returned Ted.  “I’m glad to see that you fellows really had the nerve to come to-day.”

“I saw you doing some pretty wild batting, Teall,” laughed Dick Prescott.  “That kind of work won’t save you when I get started.  Shall I throw you in a few real ones—–­hard ones—–­before we get at it in earnest?”

“Go on!” retorted Ted scornfully.

“Oh, I won’t hurt you,” Prescott promised.

“You bet you won’t,” boasted Teall.

“He’s afraid, even before the game starts,” jeered a group of Central Grammar boys.  “That’s right, Ted.  Guard your life.”

“Don’t be afraid, Teall,” Dick urged tantalizingly.  “Trying to hit some of my deliveries will be something like an education for you.”

“Bosh!” sneered Teall.

“Then why won’t you try a few?”