's attempt to be funny!" growled Teall, his
face now red with mortification.

"Laugh, Ted, confound you!" urged Tom Reade. "Laugh! Don't be
a grouch."

"What you need, Teall," teased Dave Darrin, "is some nerve tonic.
You ought not to let yourself get into such bad shape that you
almost faint when you hit the ball."

For once Ted Teall's ready tongue went back on him. He could
think of nothing to say that would not make him look still more
ridiculous.

"I guess he'll be good, for one game at least," grimaced Dick
as he turned to his teammates.

Chapter VII

TED TEALL FACES THE STORM

The game had gone into the third inning, with the Centrals retired
from the bat and the Souths now in from the field.

In the second inning Greg, backed splendidly by Tom and Dick,
had scored a run for his side---the only run listed as yet.

In this third inning, with South Grammar now at the bat, two men
were out, and one on second when Ted Teall stepped to the plate.

"Put a real slam over on 'em, Ted!" shouted a South fan.

"Drive a ball over into Stayton and then fill up the score card
while the Centrals are looking for it!" advised another Teall
partisan.

"Centrals?" jeered another boy from the South. Grammar. "Centrals?
Show 'em they're just plain hello-girls!"

Ted grinned broadly at this "hello-girls" nickname. Just then
another fan from the southern part of Gridley piped up:

"Ted, eat 'em. They're only nine pieces of blue cheese!"

That was going too far, and it was time for Central Grammar to
take notice effectively.

"Bang!" roared one half of the Central fans.

"Ow-ow-ow!" yelled the other half of the Central boosters, leaping
up into the air.

Even Ted Teall had to laugh at this mortifying reminder of his
terror when he had struck the torpedo ball. The next instant
his face went deep red, for everyone on the field appeared to
be laughing and jeering at him.

"Confound Prescott and his tricks!" muttered Teall under his breath.
"It'll take a lot of thinking for me to get even with that trick."

Whizz-zz! went the ball by Ted's body, just below shoulder-high.

"Strike one!" called the umpire sharply.

"Centrals will get me rattled with that bang-ow-ow! of theirs
every time they spring it on me," thought Ted savagely.

"Strike two!"

Again Ted had failed to realize that the ball was coming. In
his anger be wondered whether he'd rather throw his bat at the
umpire or at smiling Dick Prescot