Flint did hit it. He met it full and fair, and sent it onto a dead line into the hands of Jarley, who was almost lifted off his feet.
Nevertheless the Franklin shortstop clung to the ball and snapped it over to third so quickly that Darrell was caught off the bag and put out.
This brought a yell of joy from the Franklin crowd.
“Hard luck, Dave,” said Dick, as Flint returned to the bench.
“Bad judgment!” declared Flint. “I tried to drive it ten feet to the right of him, and I put it straight into his hands.”
“Well, you did your best,” said Dick, “and that’s all any one can do. Angels can do no better, you know.”
“It’s a shame!” declared the boy with the scarred cheek, as he sat down on the bench. “We had a chance to win this game right there!”
“The chance will come again,” asserted young Merriwell confidently. “It is not over yet. Black is on second and Gardner has a crack. A single to right field may score Black.”
But now Westcott aroused himself, and, although Gardner tried his level best to make a hit, it was no use. He finally struck out, and at the close of the third inning the score stood three to one in Franklin’s favor.
“Why, this is a fine little game!” nodded Wiley. “This is the sort of a game to provide undiluted amusement for the numerous visitors assembled to observe the seething conflict.”