“You want to be careful with your elbows and your spikes to-day, Mr. Stover,” said Dick. “Likewise, I’d advise you, if you have occasion to tag me, not to attempt to knock out any of my teeth. I shall be looking at you all the time.”
Some of Stover’s companions were inclined to rush at Dick in a bullying manner, but the crowd rose and made it plain that sympathy lay with the youngster.
“Here, here!” shouted Harrison from the bench. “Let up on that business, boys! We won’t have to scrap to take this game in a walk.”
They knew the old man meant it by his tone, and they likewise knew it was policy to obey him.
Lozier, who followed Dick, took a signal from the Yale man at third and batted the ball into the diamond.
Merriwell came home like a streak, sliding safely, in spite of the effort to stop him from scoring. This attempt to get Dick at the plate gave Lozier time to reach first.
South-paw Pope was exasperated. He heard the crowd shout its delight and distinguished in the midst of that tumult the sound of a wild, shrill warwhoop that came from the lips of a well-satisfied old redskin who had bet his last dollar on the college boys.
Old Greg McGregor jogged into the batter’s box and let two wide ones pass. Then he found one of Pope’s benders for a safety in right that sent Lozier all the way to third.
The Outlaws were amazed and possibly somewhat rattled. At any rate, Dead-eye Jack Roony made a poor throw to second when McGregor attempted to steal, and the runner was safe.
Duncan Ross fouled out.