Gibson dropped his stick in a dazed way, muttering:

"Great Scott! it was a straight ball and close to my fingers!"

He might have shouted the words and not been heard, for the Yale rooters were getting in their work for fair. They gave one great roar of delight, and then came the college yell, followed by the freshman cheer.

At last they were given an opportunity to use their lungs, after having been comparatively silent for several innings.

"Whoop 'er up for 'Umpty-eight!" howled a fellow with a heavy voice.

"What's the matter with 'Umpty-eight?"

"She's all right!" went up the hoa.r.s.e roar.

"What's the matter with Merriwell?"

"He's all right!" again came that roar.

When the shouting had subsided, Rattleton touched Harris on the shoulder and laughingly asked:

"Do I win?"

"Not yet. There are two more coming."

"But I win just as hard, my boy."

"Hope you do."

The next Harvard batter came up, determined to do something, although he was a trifle uncertain. He let the first one pa.s.s and heard a strike called, which did not please him much. The second one was a coaxer, and he let that ball go by. The umpire called a ball. The third was a high one, but it looked good, and he tried for it. It proved to be a rise, and he struck under it at least a foot.

Bob Collingwood was growing enthusiastic.

"That Merriwell is full of tricks," he declared. "Think how he secretly coached the freshman crew up on the Oxford stroke last fall and won the race at Saltonstall. If it hadn't been for a traitor n.o.body would have known what he was doing with the crew, for he wouldn't let them practice at the machines."

"I have had my eye on him ever since he entered Yale," confessed Pierson. "I have seen that he is destined to come to the front."

The batter seemed angry because he had been deceived so easily, and this gave Frank satisfaction, for an angry man can be deceived much easier than one who keeps cool.

Merriwell held them close in on the batter, who made four fouls in succession, getting angrier each moment. By this time an outdrop was the thing to fool him, and it worked nicely.

"Three strikes and out!" called the umpire.

Frank had struck out two men, and the Yale crowd could not cheer loud enough to express their delight.

Old Put was delighted beyond measure, but he was keeping pretty still, for he knew what he was sure to hear if Yale did not pull the game out some way. He knew everybody would be asking him why he did not put Merriwell in the box before.

Lewis Little was hugging himself with satisfaction, while Dismal Jones'

long face actually wore something suggestive of a smile.

Rattleton felt like standing on his head and kicking up his heels with the delight he could not express.

"Oh, perhaps they will give Frank a show after this!" he thought.

"Didn't I tell Put, the blooming idiot? It took him a long time to get out of his trance."

Sport Harris coolly puffed away at a black cigar, seemingly perfectly unconcerned, like a born gambler. He had black hair and a faint line of a mustache. He was rather handsome in a way, but he had a p.r.o.nounced taste for loud neckties.

The next batter to come up was nervous, as could be seen at a glance. He did not wish to strike out, but he was far too eager to hit the ball, and he went after a bad one at the very start, which led him to get a mild call down from the bench.

Then the fellow let a good one pa.s.s, which rattled him worse than ever.

The next looked good and he swung at it.

He hit it, and it went up into the air, dropping into Merriwell's hands, who did not have to step out of his tracks to get it.

Yale had whitewashed Harvard for the first time in that game.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE GAME GROWS HOTTER.

By the noise the Yale crowd made one might have fancied the game was theirs beyond a doubt.

"Poor fellows!" said one languid Harvardite to an equally languid companion. "It's the only chawnce they have had to cheer. Do let them make a little noise."

"Yas," said his companion, "do. It isn't at all likely they will get another opportunity during this game."

There were cheers for Merriwell, but Frank walked to the bench and put on his sweater as if utterly unconscious of the excitement he had created. His unconcerned manner won fresh admiration for him.

Old Put congratulated Frank as soon as the bench was reached.

"That was great work, Merriwell. Keep it up! Keep it up!"

"That kind of work will not win the game as the score stands," returned Frank. "Some batting must be done, and there must be some score getting."

"You are right, and you are the second man up this inning. See what you can do."

"If I had known I came so soon I wouldn't have put on my sweater."

"Keep it on. You must not get chilly. We can't tell what may happen.

Harder games than this have been pulled out. They lead us but five scores."

"Blossom bats ahead of me, does he? Well, he never got a hit when one was wanted in all his life; but he's got a trick that is just as good, if he will try to work it."

"Getting hit by the ball? He is clever at that. Tell him to work the dodge this time if he can. Get him onto first some way. We must have some scores, if we steal them."

"I wish we might steal a few."

"If I get first and Blossom is ahead of me on second, let us try the double steal. I may be caught at second or he may be caught at third, and there is a bare possibility that we'll both make our bags. At any rate, but one of us is liable to be caught, and if it is Blossom it will leave us scarcely any worse off than before. If it is myself, why, Blossom will be on third, we'll have one man out, and stand a good show of scoring once at least."