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us,” said Ralph. The boys sat down on the grass. They watched Burton’s and Clyde’s teams play for a bit.
    “Like who?” said Mel.
    “Them,” said Ned.
    They all looked.
    “Naw,” said Mel. “They’re . . . huge.”
    “And all we have is this,” said Franklin, holding up his paper football.
    “We do need a real football,” said Ned. “We could play them for that one.”
    “Whoa!” said Mel. “Not me! I don’t need to be anybody’s pancake for supper.”
    “But you just about made a catch today,” said Ned. “You got around the
O
s and nearly caught the ball. I don’t see anyone over there doing that.”
    They all looked up. As a group they stood and stepped closer to the other game.
    “Ned’s right,” said Franklin. “They don’t know anything about strategy.”
    “But they’re big,” Mel persisted.
    “But you are quick,” said Ralph. “And I’m not tall but I’m hard to knock over. And what if we got G.O.?”
    Burton had the ball and was trying to get around Clyde, but Clyde knocked him over and grabbed the ball from him. Lester’s ball.
    Burton pounded the ground with his fist. He looked up and saw them standing there.
    “What are you sissies staring at?” he yelled. “Scram, why don’t you?” He leaped to his feet and lunged at them. They backed off, laughing.
    “That is what strategy is for,” said Ned, the others gathering around him. “I can call a play and they won’t know which one we’re going to do.”
    “How will we know?” said Paul.
    “We’ll huddle up ahead of time and I’ll tell you. Each one has a name.”
    “What is that first one called?” said Mel.
    “Ike,” said Ned, as it was the first name that popped into his head and it rhymed with
hike
. “We’ll call this one the Lester.”
    They got started then and ran each play a couple of times.
    Ned threw an overvigorous pass to Ralph and it sailed over all of their players, clear into the other game.
    “Uh-oh,” said Ned.
    “Hey!” shouted Burton. “Get your toy out of our game!”
    Ned ran over to get the ball. It was right in the middle of Burton’s and Clyde’s players. Franklin’s paper-and-twine ball lay on the ground right next to Lester’s ball. His ball. What if he picked it up by mistake?
    He should be playing with these boys right now, using this football. He reached down. If his hand just slipped . . . The guys were all horsing around; glad for the break, no one was watching Ned Button.
    “Hey!” said Burton. He snatched up the ball. “Paws off. Take your hankie wad and get out of here.”
    “We don’t need it anyhow,” said Ned. “We are playing just fine.”
    “Sure, sure you are,” said Burton, laughing. “They’re playing just fine, aren’t they, Clyde?”
    “You think you’re so good?” said Ned. “How about taking us on?”
    “Taking you on?”
    “Sure. Your teams together against ours.”
    “What do you say, Clyde? The lions against the mice?”
    “I don’t know,” said Clyde.
    “I bet you’re chicken,” Ned said.
    “Chicken. Right. It’s just that I’m afraid you and your fellows will get hurt.”
    “Ha,” said Ned, though inside he was not laughing. He glanced over at his scraggly team. Franklin was picking his nose. Paul was walking around on his hands. “Not likely.”
    “If we do play, and I’m not saying we will, but if we do, there has to be a prize,” said Burton.
    “Lester’s ball,” said Ned.
    “But it’s already mine.”
    “Then you shouldn’t have to worry.”
    “He’s right,” said Clyde. “We’ve got nothing to lose. If they want a bruising, I guess we could give it to them.”
    “What do we get if we win?” Burton asked.
    “We’ll give you the whole field. We won’t get in your way anymore.”
    “When?” said Burton. Then to Clyde he said, “When pigs fly?” They laughed.
    “Saturday,” said Ned. “After the Hawkeye game. We’ll be listening. When it’s over, meet at Tractor Field.”
    “Sure,”