“Wouldn’t that sus-sus-sus-sus-scald you!” chattered Jolliby.
“How sorry I am!” shouted Ted Smart, who was setting up the pins.
“Talk about luck!” sneered Arlington, who was one of the spectators. “What do you think of that? That was a case of horseshoes, all right!”
“Luck! Waugh!” snorted Buckhart. “Didn’t he hit ’em right?”
“I have seen them hit a hundred times in that way without making a strike,” retorted Chet. “But he has to get nine pins with his next ball in order to tie. He can’t do it.”
Up to this point Dick had been bowling for sport and for the fine exercise it provided. It must not be understood that he was not trying to do his best, for he always did at anything. But now Arlington’s words aroused him, and he was seized with a sudden powerful desire to win.
“Bet you a horse he gets them!” exclaimed the Texan.
“If he does,” declared Chet, “it will be more of his slobby luck. When it comes to bowling he is a mark. I can bowl a little myself. I’d like to get at him once at this. But he doesn’t dare to give me a show on these new alleys.”
“Hi suppose you’re a wonderful bowler?” put in Billy Bradley. “I suppose you ’ave an hastonishing record?”
“I have bowled one hundred and thirty-eight in a single string of candlepins,” asserted Chet.