"See here, young man," he said, "we want no monkey business to-day. If you don't give us what's coming to us, you'll get into trouble in short order. We know how to deal with crooked umpires."

"Evidently you do not know how to deal with gentlemen," said Greg.

"You'll get your due and not a whit more. Bullying and browbeating will not give you an advantage."

"Oh, you're rather a stiff-necked young man, ain't ye?" growled the big bear. "Let's understand the ground rules before we begin. How about a wild throw into the crowd, Merriwell?"

"Perhaps we'd better make a rule that such a throw will give the base runner the privilege of advancing one base and no more," suggested Frank.

"That's satisfactory to us," nodded Bearover. "Do you think you can keep the crowd off the outfields?"

"I have six officers here for the purpose of handling this crowd. Not only will I see that the spectators do not intrude on the outfields, but I'll guarantee that those officers will suppress any riot or disturbance. They have full authority to arrest any one who attempts to make trouble here to-day."

Casper Silence yawned and lighted a cigarette.

"There won't be any disturbance unless you chaps try to steal this game," said Bearover.

"We don't have to steal games," returned Merry, quick as a flash. "We can win them."

Silence smiled scornfully as he breathed forth a whiff of smoke.

"That may have been your experience in the past," he observed, "but you're up against a different proposition to-day, young man."

"Will you give your batting order to our scorer?" asked Bearover.

"You'll find our scorer sitting yonder," said Merry. "He'll give you the batting order."

"One more point," suggested Silence. "You seem determined to have things pretty much your own way here. I know it's customary for the home team to take its choice of innings. In this case it's possible you may be able to concede a point and give us the choice."

"Why, certainly," replied Frank, with a smile. "You may choose."

"Then we'll let you bat first."

A few minutes later the Rovers came in, and Merry's team trotted onto the field.

The scorers recorded the batting order of each team as follows:

MERRIES. ROVERS.

Mulloy, 3d b. McCann, ss.

Hodge, c. Mertez, rf.

Merriwell, p. Grifford, cf.

Badger, 2d b. Holmes, 1st b.

Diamond, ss. O'Day, 3d b.

Browning, 1st b. Clover, 2d b.

Gallup, cf. Roach, lf.

Carson, lf. Bancroft, c.

Dunnerwust, rf. Bender, p.

Practice was soon over, and Merry called his team in.

Again the Rovers trotted onto the field.

Greg Carker broke open a box and tossed out a snow-white ball. Bender caught the ball with one hand and promptly proceeded to soil it by rubbing it on the gra.s.s outside the pitcher's box.

"Play ball!" called Carker clearly.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

JOLTS FOR BULLIES.

Bender was a thin, sinewy, long-armed, hatchet-faced chap, who looked like an Indian. He had "traveled in fast company" for years, but was said to be a hard man to handle, having jumped more than one contract and being of a sullen and revengeful disposition.

Bancroft, the catcher, was a rather stocky individual, inclined to be a trifle too fat. The general observer decided him out of condition and unfit for baseball. His position under the bat was awkward, and his face wore an expression of blankness, which seemed to indicate a lack of that quick wit and keen intelligence to be found in every exceptional baseball player.

Nevertheless, Bang Bancroft was one of the cleverest players on the Rovers. He was a great short-arm thrower to bases. He could bat like a fiend, and he had a knack of coaching and steadying a pitcher which brought out the best there was in any slab artist who "handed 'em up" to him.

McCann, shortstop and captain of the team, was a fighting Irishman with a peppery temper and a bullying disposition. This chap had a trick of bulldozing umpires and opposing players, and he generally played what is commonly called "sc.r.a.ppy baseball."

The other members of the team took their cues from McCann, and their aggressiveness was made apparent almost before the first ball was pitched over the plate.

"Here's a mark, Bender!" cried McCann, as Mulloy stepped out with his bat. "Eat him up!"

"Come on, Mitt," came from O'Day, "burn a few hot ones over! Make him dizzy!"

"Get back from the plate!" rasped Bender, as Barney took his position.

"Get back, or you'll get hit!"

"Hit him if he crowds," came from Holmes; "but don't kill him. You know you killed one man last year and broke another man's jaw."

"Go ahead and hit him," came from Clover. "He's Irish, and you can't kill him."

Frank Merriwell's eyes began to gleam with a peculiar light and his lips tightened.

"They fancy they're up against a lot of youngsters they can intimidate,"

he thought. "They mean to frighten us at the start."

Again Bender motioned for Mulloy to move back from the plate.

"Pitch the ball, me fri'nd--pitch the ball," said Barney. "Oi'm in me box, and I'll shtand here."

An instant later Bender delivered the ball, deliberately snapping a swift one straight at Mulloy.