“Wait,” said Swett, “Carl is taking Merriwell’s measure. I reckon he’ll baste it next time he swings.”
But Dick was taking Henderson’s measure, and by this time he had learned something of the great batter’s weak points. Two fouls followed, and then, for the first time that day, Dick used the combination ball. It started like a rise, but shifted into a drop, and once more Henderson experienced the mortification of striking out.
“Here, give me a chance,” laughed Captain Emery, seizing a bat and trotting out to the plate. “Of course I don’t expect to do any better than you fellows, but I want to see why it is you can’t hit him. He looks easy enough.”
Emery was a left-hand hitter. The moment he saw this, Dick shifted his position, took the ball in his left hand, and pitched in that manner.
“Hold on! hold on!” cried Emery. “You’re right-handed. What are you doing, anyhow, Merriwell?”
“I pitch with either hand,” smiled Dick. “As a rule, I use my left hand when I find myself up against a left-hand hitter.”
“Well, by Jove, I knew that, but I’d forgotten it!” said Emery. “You’re the only pitcher I ever saw who could really do that trick. Have you any speed with your left?”
“Not much,” answered Dick; but a moment later he sent over a left-hander that seemed to make the air smoke.
“Oh, not a bit of speed—not a bit!” cried Emery, who struck and missed.
Having struck the Yale captain out, Dick seemed satisfied, for he made no further effort to secure strike-outs, although he continued pitching for ten minutes or more. Once in a while he would send in a queer shoot or curve that would bewilder the man at bat, but he did not keep himself constantly at his best.