He decided that he had not. Endowed with an extraordinary memory, he never forgot a face, and those two were totally strange.
The next moment he was surprised to see the brown-haired man rise from his table and come across the room toward him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, pausing beside Dick’s chair; “but isn’t your name Merriwell—Dick Merriwell?”
There was a slightly puzzled look on Dick’s face.
“It is,” he answered. “But I don’t remember——”
“No, of course you don’t,” the other interrupted with an embarrassed smile. “You’ve never laid eyes on me before; but I’ve seen Merriwell pitch several times, and the minute you came into the room I was sure you were he.”
He hesitated for an instant, and Dick waited quietly for him to continue.
“I’m the captain of the Field Club nine here in Forest Hills,” the tall fellow went on presently. “Our big game—the game of the season—is scheduled for to-morrow, and our battery is beastly weak, especially Morrison, the pitcher. I thought—I wondered whether it would be possible for you to come out to the grounds this afternoon and give us a pointer or two. I—I know I’ve got nerve, but that game means a lot to us. My name is Gardiner—Glen Gardiner.”
Merriwell’s heart warmed to this frank, pleasant-voiced young fellow, who was so obviously embarrassed at the favor he had ventured to ask; and, as Gardiner finished speaking, the Yale man rose quickly to his feet and held out his hand.
“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Gardiner,” he said heartily. “You’re not nervy at all. I shall be delighted to help you in any way I can. We were just wondering how we could put in the afternoon. I’d like you to meet my friends, Brad Buckhart, Tommy Tucker, and Bouncer Bigelow.”