Frank longed to get in his score, which would leave Harvard with a lead of but one. He felt that he must get home some way.

Danny Griswold came to the bat.

"Get me home some way, Danny," urged Frank.

The little shortstop said not a word, but there was determination in his eyes. He grasped his stick firmly and prayed for one of his favorite high b.a.l.l.s.

But Peck kept them low on Danny, who took a strike, and then was pulled on a bad one.

With two strikes on him and only one ball, the case looked desperate for Danny. Still he did not lose his nerve. He did not think he could not hit the ball, but he made himself believe that he was bound to hit it. To himself he kept saying:

"I'll meet it next time--I'll meet it sure."

He knew the folly of trying to kill the ball in such a case, and so when he did swing, his only attempt was to meet it squarely. In this he succeeded, and he sent it over the second baseman's head, but it fell short of the fielder.

Merriwell came home while Griswold was going down to first.

And now it needed but one score for Yale to tie Harvard.

The man who followed Griswold dashed all their hopes by hitting a weak one to short and forcing Danny out at second.

Harvard cheered their men as they came in from the field.

"We must make some scores this time, boys," said the Harvard captain. "A margin of one will never do, with those fellows. .h.i.tting anything and everything."

"That's exactly what they are doing," said Peck. "They are getting hits off b.a.l.l.s they have no business to strike at."

"Oh, you are having your troubles," grinned a friend.

"Any one is bound to have when batters are picking them off the clouds or out of the dirt. It doesn't make much difference where they are."

"This man Merriwell can't hold us down as he has done," a.s.serted d.i.c.kson, Harvard's first baseman.

"I don't know; he is pretty cagey," admitted Nort Gibson.

"I believe he is the best pitcher we'll strike this season," said another.

"Here, here, you fellows!" broke in the captain. "You are getting down-hearted, and that won't do. We've got this game and we are going to hold it; but we want to go in to clinch it right here."

They didn't do much clinching, for although the first man up hit the ball, he got to first on an error by the third baseman, who fumbled in trying to pick it up.

Blossom was the third baseman, and he was confused by his awkwardness, expecting to get a call down.

"Steady, Blos, old boy!" said Frank, gently. "You are all right. The best of us do those things occasionally. It is nothing at all."

These words relieved Blossom's feelings and made him vow that he would not let another ball play chase around his feet.

Frank struck the next man out, and held the runner on first while he was doing it. The third man sent an easy pop-fly to Blossom, who got hold of it and clung to it for dear life.

Then the runner got second on a pa.s.sed ball, but he advanced no farther, for the following batter rolled a weak one down to Frank, who gathered it in and threw the man out at first.

In three innings not a safe hit had been made off Merriwell, and he had struck out five men. No wonder his admirers cheered him wildly as he went to the bench.

Yale started in to make some scores. The very first man up got a hit and stole second. The next man went to the bat with the determination to slug the ball, but Old Put signaled for a sacrifice, as the man was a good bunt hitter.

The sacrifice was tried, and it worked, for the man on second got third, although the batter was thrown out at first.

"Now we need a hit!" cried Put. "It takes one to tie and two to win. A hit ties the game."

Rattleton offered to bet Harris two to one that Yale would win, but Sport declined the offer.

"It's our game fast enough," he said. "You are welcome to what you have won off me. I am satisfied."

But the game was not won. Amid the most intense excitement the next man fouled out.

Then Peck seemed to gather himself to save the game for Harvard. He got some queer quirks into his delivery, and, almost before the Yale crowd could realize it, two strikes were called on the batter.

The Yale rooters tried to rattle Peck, but they succeeded in rattling the batter instead, and, to their unutterable dismay and horror, he fanned at a third one, missed it, and--

"Batter is out!" cried the umpire.

Then a great roar for Harvard went up, and the dazed freshmen from New Haven realized they were defeated after all.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

RATTLETON IS EXCITED.

"It wasn't Merriwell's fault that the freshies didn't win," said Bob Collingwood to Paul Pierson as they were riding back to New Haven on the train that night.

"Not a bit of it," agreed Pierson. "I was expecting a great deal of Merriwell, but I believe he is a better man than I thought he could be."

"Then you have arrived at the conclusion that he is fast enough for the regular team?"

"I rather think he is."

"Will you give him a trial?"

"We may. It is a bad thing for any freshman to get an exalted opinion of himself and his abilities, for it is likely to spoil him. I don't want to spoil Merriwell--"

"Look here," interrupted Collingwood, impulsively. "I am inclined to doubt if it is an easy thing to spoil that fellow. He hasn't put on airs since coming to Yale, has he?"

"No."

"Instead of that, he has lived rather simply--far more so than most fellows would if they could afford anything better. He has made friends with everybody who appeared to be white, no matter whether their parents possessed boodle or were poor."