Out on the field, just before half past four, Captain Dick Prescott
lined up his squad of fourteen, himself included, and quickly
added four more to the number, thus organizing two nines.

"Now, play ball," he called.

"Do it in a hurry," supplemented Tom Reade.

"Speed is all right," Dick retorted. "But we want to play with care,
even more than with speed. The scrub nine will go to bat."

Dick himself ran quickly out to the pitcher's box, twirling his
ball impatiently. A High School boy had been secured for umpire,
and all was in readiness.

Of course the school nine won over the scrub. Never mind the
score, which looked badly for the scrub. Dick was satisfied that
his nine was doing the best that was in it.

Tuesday afternoon there was more practice, though Captain Dick
did not allow it to continue too long.

"Now, don't take a single chance with yourselves," called Prescott,
in dismissing the squad on the field near the schoolhouse. "Don't
any one of you get a sore toe or strain a 'wing' before to-morrow
afternoon. Fellows, I believe that we are going to be able to
put it all over the North Grammar to-morrow afternoon. But we
can't do it unless we are all in the best of shape. Be careful
at table. Don't any one of you overeat between now and the game.
And all get into bed early to-night and have a long sleep."