"Well, hardly anything as big as that," teased d.i.c.k. "I'm afraid that you fellows are growing impatient on what is, after all, not a very important matter."

"So, then, the speech of the man on the clubhouse steps wasn't very important?" inquired Tom, seeking to pin their leader down.

"Why, that would depend on how you happened to regard what the man on the clubhouse steps said," d.i.c.k laughed.

"Is that what you're going to tell us?" almost bowled Hazelton.

"I don't know that I am going to tell you much of anything," Prescott continued.

"What did the man on the clubhouse steps say?" asked Dan, advancing with uplifted bat.

"You'll never drag the secret from me by threats or violence,"

retorted d.i.c.k, with a stubborn shake of the head.

"We're getting away from the point," Tom went on. "You said you had been thinking."

"Well?"

"You've made the claim of having been thinking, but you haven't offered the slightest proof."

"What I was thinking, fellows, was that we are obliged to meet the South Grammar nine on the diamond to-day."

"We're not afraid of them," scoffed Dave.

"No," d.i.c.k went on, "but I've an idea that we're up against an ordeal, after a fashion. You all know what a guyer Ted Teall is---how he nearly broke up our match with the Norths last Wednesday afternoon."

"Ted can't do any guying this morning," declared Greg readily.

"If he does, the umpire will rule him out of the game, and that would snap all of Ted's nerve. No; Ted won't guy us to-day."

"But I'll tell you just what will happen to us," d.i.c.k offered.

"The spectators who come from the South Grammar aren't under the umpire's orders. You may be sure that Ted has posted the fellows from his school on a lot of things that they can yell at us. Oh, we'll get guyed from the start to the finish of the game."

"If they go too far," hinted Dave, "we can thrash some of the funny ones afterwards."

"I shan't feel like thrashing anyone for having a little fun with us," remarked Reade.

"Thrashing wouldn't do any good, anyway," d.i.c.k continued. "Besides which, we might just happen, incidentally, to be the fellows that got the worst thrashing if we started anything like that going.

I don't object to good-natured ridicule. But the South Grammar fellows may have some things to yell at us that will rattle our play. That's what I want to stop."

"How can you stop it?" queried Greg.

"That's what kept me home a little later than I intended to stay there," d.i.c.k replied. "I have been thinking, since last night, how I could take some of the starch out of Ted Teall, and have some way of throwing the horse laugh back on the South Grammar boys in case they start anything funny enough to rattle us."

"How did the thinking get on?" Tom wanted to know.

"I believe I've something here that will do it," Prescott replied, taking an object from one of his pockets and holding it up.

"It looks like a home-made ball for babies to play with," remarked Dan Dalzell, grinning.

"It's a home-made ball, all right," d.i.c.k nodded. "Yet I don't believe that I'd let a baby have it to play with."

"What's the matter with it?" Tom asked. "Loaded?"

"Some one told you," protested Prescott, pretending to look astounded.

"What are you going to do with that thing?" Dave insisted.

"If I have a chance I'm going to get Ted Teall up in the air, and before the crowd, too," d.i.c.k a.s.serted.

"With this ball?" Greg asked, taking it from his friend's hand.

"Yes."

"Hm! I don't see anything about it to shatter the nerves of a hardy youth like Ted Teall," Greg muttered. "This ball is just wound with string and covered with pieces of old glove. Why, it's so soft that I don't believe I could throw it straight."

Greg raised the home-made ball to throw it.

"Here! Don't toss it, or you may put it out of business," objected Prescott, taking it away from his friend.

"If the ball can't be thrown, then what on earth is it good for?"

questioned Darrin.

"I'll come to that by degrees," d.i.c.k promised. "Did you know that dad has secured a license this year to sell fireworks at his store?"

"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," d.i.c.k explained. "I got one of them and wrapped this string and leather around it."

Then, in low tones, d.i.c.k 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 Sat.u.r.day game had been scheduled for two in the afternoon. However, so many of the schoolboys in town wanted to have Sat.u.r.day afternoon for other fun that the time had been changed to nine in the forenoon.

"Hadn't we better be starting?" asked d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k's nine and subst.i.tutes 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.

"h.e.l.lo! Here come the bluebells!" yelled a group of South Grammar fans and rooters.