“Take it, Jolliby!” was Merriwell’s command.
Flint did not stop, and the two collided just as the ball struck Chip’s hands.
Both went down, and the ball bounded away.
Right there misfortune fell heavily on Fardale, for both of the fellows were temporarily stunned and so bewildered that they had lost sight of the ball. It is certain that the Great Northern would have scored one run, but she could not have made two scores had either Jolliby or Flint found the ball quickly and returned it to the diamond. By the time Dave got the ball the man who had hit it was past third and coming home.
Flint made a magnificent throw to the plate, but Buckhart received the ball a moment too late, and at last the Great Northern was in the lead.
“There you have it!” muttered Chester Arlington, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “There is support for you, Mr. Merriwell.”
“Why, we knew how it would be!” laughed Tom Grace. “We were fooling with you youngsters all the time.”
“Talk about horseshoes!” roared Buckhart. “If that wasn’t a case of horseshoes for you fellows, I hope to be lynched for a horse thief!”
Now, for all of his side, Dick set his teeth and began to use speed and curves. Buckhart shook his head warningly, for he knew every speedy ball pitched by Merriwell was injuring his lame side. The jump ball and the combination curve proved too much for the next hitter. He fanned three times without touching the leather.
The Great Northern was out at last, but she had a lead of one run, and the general impression was that Fardale had lost the game.