Of all Dick’s friends Brad Buckhart was the only one who seemed entirely unshaken in confidence. The Texan remained firm in his belief that Dick would win.
With only three boxes to roll and Arlington twelve points ahead in the seventh box, the case looked desperate indeed. But Merriwell was one who never gave up as long as there was a shred of hope left, and now he delighted his friends by sending a graceful curve into the pins and sweeping them all down except one on the corner. This pin stood and tottered until a rolling deadwood struck it.
Then it fell!
“Whoop!” burst from the Texan, as he smote his thigh a crack. “There it is! There’s a strike for you!”
“He needs it,” said Fraser.
“Well, he has it,” retorted Buckhart. “This yere game isn’t finished yet, not by a long shot! You hear me chirp!”
Arlington was not disturbed by Dick’s success. With his nerves perfectly steady he prepared for the next effort. But he only got six pins, which gave him sixteen on his spare and a hundred and two, all told, in the eighth frame.
“Look at that! Look at that!” smiled Fraser. “There’s a score for you! One hundred and two on eight rolls! He will make a hundred and twenty!”
“I am afraid he is out of reach,” muttered Barron Black. “I am afraid Merriwell can’t touch him.”
“Hi dunno habout that,” said Billy Bradley. “There’s a chance left, don’t y’ ’now!”