BURT L. STANDISH Ultimate Collection: 24 Action Thrillers in One Volume (Illustrated) - Burt L. Standish

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      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 pass 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 nobody 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 pronounced 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 pass, 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.

       Table of Contents

      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."

      Merriwell said this in a quiet manner, not at all as if he were trying to dictate, and Putnam made no reply. However, he spoke to Blossom, who was picking out his bat.

      "Look here, Uncle," he said, "I want you to get first base in some way. Do you understand?—in some way. If you can't make a hit or get it on balls, get hit."

      Blossom made a wry face.

      "Coulter's got speed to burn," he said, "but I'll try to get hit if he gives me an in, even though it kills me."

      "That's what I want," returned Old Put, grimly. "Never mind if it does kill you. We are after scores, and a life or two is of small consequence."

      "That's a pleasant way of looking at it," muttered Blossom as he advanced to the plate. "Here goes nothing!"

      The very first ball was an inshoot, and Blossom pretended to dodge and slip. The ball took him in the side and keeled him over instantly. He was given a little water, whereupon he got up and trotted down to first, his hand clinging to his side, but grinning a bit in a sly way.

      There was a brief discussion about giving Blossom a runner, but when one was chosen who could not run as well as he could himself, he suddenly found himself in condition to get along all right.

      Merriwell took his place at the bat, having selected a bat that was a trifle over regulation length, if anything.

      Frank saw a hole in right field, and he hoped to be able to place a hit right there. If he could do it, there was a chance for Blossom to get around to third on a single.

      Coulter knew nothing of Merriwell's batting, so he was forced to experiment on the man. He tried a drop that almost hit the plate, but Frank did not bite. Then Coulter sent over a high one, and still Merriwell refused to swing, and two balls had been called.

      Coulter had a trick of holding a man close on first, and so Blossom had not obtained lead enough to attempt to steal second.

      Frank felt that Coulter would make an attempt to get the next one over the outside or inside corner of the plate, as it would not do to have three balls in succession called without a single strike.

      Merriwell was right. Coulter sent one over the inside corner, using a straight ball. Still Merriwell did not offer at it, for he could not have placed it in the right field if he had tried.

      "One strike!" called the umpire.

      Although

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