Merriwell had been studying the batters, and he felt that his only chance to stop the hitting was to “use his head.” He could not depend on his best curves, for his side was too lame to permit him to throw them.
Chester had been using speed, and now Dick began pitching a slow ball, which proved troublesome to the batters. After swinging twice at these slow ones, Wallace snapped:
“Oh! put a little ginger into your arm! What’s the matter with you? Speed up, kid—speed up!”
“Well, here’s speed for you,” retorted Dick; but again he threw a provokingly slow ball, with the result that Wallace popped up a little fly that dropped into Merriwell’s hands.
Like a flash Dick whirled and threw to second, catching Costigan off the bag, and two men were out.
“Ha! ha! ha! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! Ziggerboom! Riggerboom! Merriwell! Merriwell! Merriwell!” burst from the cadets.
“Talk about luck!” grated Chester Arlington, who had witnessed this play. “That’s his luck! Why can’t I have some of it?”
“Say, youngster,” called Tom Grace, “let me see your horseshoe. Where do you keep it?”
Dick paid no attention to this. He concentrated every faculty on the effort to retire Peterson, knowing the Great Northern pitcher was not nearly as good a hitter as Ligner, who followed him.
Peterson finally lifted a high infield fly, which Earl Gardner smothered, and the joy of the cadets was expressed in another wild cheer, for at last the enemy had been checked, with Fardale still one run in the lead.