Phil Starbright could scarcely keep still. He wanted to dance and shout when Dick passed Frank and took the lead. Browning looked on in amazed silence, while Ready gasped:
“What’s this? what’s this? I fear me much the result is to be a surprise. Be still, my fluttering heart, be still!”
“I believe Mr. Starbright is going to beat Frank!” whispered Winnie to Buck.
“None whatever!” returned the Westerner. “Don’t get that idea into your head, girl. I’ve seen Frank Merriwell before, and he’s never beaten till the game is ended. He has nerves, while the big fellow is unsteady and liable to go into the air any minute. You hear me!”
Starbright ran eighteen points, which gave him a lead of twelve.
“Now, Merry, old man,” urged Buck, “get into gear and do your pretty work. We know you’re a bit out of practise, but just show us how you can play at any old game when you have to play.”
Not a word did Frank say, though he smiled faintly at Badger. He began by making three difficult shots, the third one bunching the balls. Then he played in splendid form till he had added nineteen to the three, making a run of twenty-two, which turned the tables on Starbright, leaving Merry ten in the lead.
Dick missed his first effort, and Frank was given the balls again. He sought to get them together for a run, and the attempt caused him to fail to count with his second shot.
“You want only eleven to tie, Dick!” palpitated Phil. “You can get ’em. I’ve known you to run thirty.”
Once more Starbright tried to steady his nerves and play with the coolness that was a feature of Merriwell’s work. Somehow that coolness made the big fellow feel sure that under ordinary circumstances Frank would completely outrank him at billiards. But the prize lured Starbright to do his best. That Christmas sleigh-ride with Inza was something worth working for.
Click, click, click—the big freshman tapped off the points, Dashleigh counting the buttons as he slid them along the wire. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—ha! at last the ivories rolled hard and lay in an extremely difficult position.
Pausing to study the shot, Dick heard Badger whisper to Winnie that he must surely miss.
Then, with his utmost skill and nerve, he played a cushion-carom shot and counted.