“Remember how they hit him in the first inning!” “It’s all over now!” “They’ll make a dozen!” “Move back your outfielders!”
Frank took the ball and looked at Bart, who gave a sign. Merry shook his head, and assumed a position that indicated he was about to use the double-shoot.
Every man on the field knew what was coming. The batter, however, was not prepared.
Whiz!--that strangely twisting ball went over the pan.
Bart smiled grimly as he returned the ball.
Whiz--again came the double-shoot, but with curves reversed.
The batter swung hard, missed, fell down.
Bart Hodge showed his teeth. This was Merriwell in form. The speed was enough to make the ball burn through the big catching-mitt.
Merry knew he had the fellow on the string, and so he used a high, straight ball. The fellow went after it, and fanned.
“Well, well, well!” cried somebody in the crowd. “That’s the way he pitched yesterday! Now he is getting into gear!”
The next batter had his teeth set, but Merry used the double-shoot with the same deadly effect. Three times the fellow fanned, and the side was retired.
Minneapolis had not scored after getting the bags filled with only one out.
“Heap big stuff!” came from Old Joe, as Merry walked in to the bench.
“Get hit by the ball if you can,” commanded Merry. “If you can’t, then get your base on balls. Make believe you are anxious to line it out, but do not hit.”
Bruce groaned, for he was anxious to hit. Merry, however, had found that any one who waited stood a good show of getting a base off Potter, who had grown wild as the game advanced.
Browning went up to the plate, and two strikes were called on him without delay. Then he looked at Merry for permission to hit, but Frank grimly shook his head.
The next one looked close, but the umpire called it a ball. Then Potter tried an out, but that was a ball. A high one followed, and three balls had been called.
Now Bruce expected a straight one over the center, and again he besought permission to hit it out. Again Frank shook his head.
Potter tried to put one right over, but he failed, and the umpire called four balls.
“Oh, Laura!” squealed Jack Ready, as he waltzed down to the coaching-line by first. “Here is where we win the bun!”