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," Dick 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," Dick 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," Dick 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," Dick asserted.

"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," Dick promised. "Did you know
that dad has secured a lic