to two. That, however, was as good for all purposes as any other
could possibly be.

"What ails you Norths?" amiably remarked Ted Teall. "Is it the
gayness of your uniforms? The red gets in your eyes and keeps
you from seeing the ball."

"You're not funny," glowered Hi Martin. "You're merely a clown."

"Wait until my nine plays yours," retorted Teall genially. "Then
we'll see who looks more like a clown---you or I."

But now there was time, and Dick Prescott and his fellows had
to tell scores of eager inquirers how they came by their new uniforms,
when they had not expected to have any.

"Just what I thought, or as bad, anyway," muttered Martin when
the news was brought to him. "These muckers couldn't buy their
uniforms, as our fellows did. They had to depend upon charity
to make a good appearance on the field."

"Hold on, there, Martin," angrily objected one of the Central
fans. "I suppose it was charity, too, when you gave our fellows
the game, eh? It was mighty kind of you, too."

"Huh!" retorted Hi. "This is only one game lost, and by a hair's
breadth. Wait until the end of the season, and see who carries
the laurels."

"Prescott, what do these letters mean on your jersey?" asked Ted