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feels bad enough about it, that is plain. He is trying to appear cheerful on the bench, but—"

      "He can't stand it any longer; he's leaving."

      That was right. Gordon had left the players' bench and was walking away. He tried to look pleased at the way things were going, but the attempt was a failure.

      "Merriwell is the luckiest fellow alive," he thought. "If I had stayed in another inning the game might have changed. He is pitching good ball, but I'm hanged if I can understand why they do not hit him. It looks easy."

      Neither could the Harvard lads thoroughly understand it, although there were some who realized that Merriwell was using his head, as well as speed and curves. And he did not use speed all the time. He had a fine change of pace, sandwiching in his slow balls at irregular intervals, but delivering them with what seemed to be exactly the same motion that he used on the speedy ones.

      The fourth batter up struck out, and again Harvard was retired without a score, which caused the Yale crowd to cheer so that some of the lads got almost black in the face.

      "Well! well! well!" laughed Rattleton, as Deacon Dunning passed over the money he had been holding. "This is like chicking perries—I mean picking cherries. All I have to do is to reach out and take what I want."

      "If the boys will capture the game I'll be perfectly satisfied to lose," declared Harris, who did not tell the truth, however, for he was chagrined, although he showed not a sign of it.

      "How can we lose? how can we lose?" chuckled Harry. "Things are coming our way, as the country editor said when he was rotten-egged by the mob."

      It really seemed that Yale was out for the game at last, for they kept up their work at the bat, although Peck replaced Coulter in the box for Harvard.

      Merriwell had his turn with the first batter up. One man was out, and there was a man on second. Coulter had warned Peck against giving Merriwell an outcurve. At the same time, knowing Frank had batted to right field before, the fielders played over toward right.

      "So you are on to that, are you?" thought Frank. "Well, it comes full easier for me to crack 'em into left field if I am given an inshoot."

      Two strikes were called on him before he found anything that suited him. Harris was on the point of betting Rattleton odds that Merriwell did not get a hit, when Frank found what he was looking for and sent it sailing into left. It was not a rainbow, so it did not give the fielder time to get under it, although he made a sharp run for it.

      Then it was that Merriwell seemed to fly around the bases, while the man ahead of him came in and scored. At first the hit had looked like a two-bagger, but there seemed to be a chance of making three out of it as Frank reached second, and the coachers sent him along. He reached third ahead of the ball, and then the Yale crowd on the bleachers did their duty.

      "How do you Harvard chaps like Merriwell's style?" yelled a Yale enthusiast as the cheering subsided.

      Then there was more cheering, and the freshmen of 'Umpty-eight were entirely happy.

      The man who followed Frank promptly flied out to first, which quenched the enthusiasm of the Yale gang somewhat and gave Harvard's admirers an opportunity to make a noise.

      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 balls.

      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 hitting anything and everything."

      "That's exactly what they are doing," said Peck. "They are getting hits off balls 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," asserted Dickson, 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 passed 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

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