"You've no idea how sore my arm is." "It must be," shouted Greg.

"Dick told me to kill his arm, if I had to, but to signal for the balls that would strike out three batsmen in lightning order." "The left hand, then!" clamored more of Dick's admirers.

Laughingly, Prescott submitted to having his left hand "shaken" almost out of joint.
"Don't make such a fuss about it, fellows," begged Dick at last.
"Remember that we have a permit for a bonfire on this lot to-night, and that the stuff is piled up in the rear of the next yard.
You fellows who didn't have to go lame bestir yourselves now in bringing on the old boxes and barrels." "Whoops!" yelled a Central Grammar boy, starting off.

"Bring out the stuff and pile it high." "Let the Souths help!" bawled Ted Teall at the top of his voice.
"No matter who won, we'll all celebrate." "Ted, you won't play any funny tricks on that pile of wood ?" questioned Dick a bit uneasily, as he followed Captain Teall.
"What do you take me for ?" demanded the South Grammar boy.

"Do you think that I'm not on the level ?" "I'm answered," was Dick Prescott's satisfied answer.
Ere long the material for a monster bonfire was piled.