“Sus-sus-sus-sixteen looks pretty good for him in that box,” stuttered Jolliby.
“Sixteen is better than the average spare,” confessed Mel Fraser, who had heard the match was taking place and hurried to the gymnasium to witness it.
“No bigger than the ordinary spare that I make,” declared Chet, wagging his head.
“Well, there is another spare for you, if you hit them right,” said Fraser.
“Oh, I will get it, all right,” promised Arlington, posing with his second ball ready. “Just watch this!”
Once more, however, his confidence was too great, and to his unspeakable disgust he missed the pins entirely.
Instantly he caught up the third ball and sent it with a snapping movement flying down the alley. This ball took off only one pin, which gave Chester seven in his fourth box and a total of forty.
“If the alley had been level, I must have made another spare with my second ball!” he growled as he sat down.
This was not true, for the ball had swerved, at most, less than half an inch in its course.
Dick slowly moistened his fingers with the sponge.