“They are working hard for a run, Jack, my boy!” laughed Roberts, “but they will never get it off you! This game ends one to nothing!”
“Dern my picter!” cried Obediah Tubbs. “I wisht I thought it!”
But when Bradley failed to touch the ball in three efforts, and was out, all knew the situation was more than serious for Fardale.
The hopes of the cadets now centred on Flint.
Dave cracked a fierce one along the ground at Roberts. The captain of the visiting team made a dive for it, got his hands on it, but did not stop it cleanly. In fact, it got through him a distance of four or five feet before he could pick it up. Flint was on first and Merriwell had safely reached third.
“Darrell!” was the shout, as Hal walked out. He was almost deathly pale, but his hands were firm as iron as they gripped the bat.
His pallor was no more intense than Chester Arlington’s, who stood watching him near the grand stand.
Hal let the first ball pass, although it was straight over. He did it that Flint might get down to second, and Dave improved the opportunity. Warren made a bluff of throwing to Crockett, but simply returned the ball to Ware.
“A clean hit wins this game, Arlington,” said Mel Fraser.
“And this is Darrell’s time to throw Merriwell down,” returned Chester. “He will do it, too.”