“Any one would think you were sorry that you didn’t let Merriwell coach you.”
“Perhaps I am.”
This was too much for Pumper Welch.
“You make me sick, too!” he said. “Go ahead and coax Mr. Merriwell to coach you. Perhaps you’ll pan out a great pitcher under his instructions. Oh, thunder, what fools some fellows are!”
With this final exclamation, Welch strode disgustedly away. As soon as possible Dick escaped and made his way from the field. He was disturbed over the rumor that Umpty-ten had lost to Highbridge High, and at the gymnasium he sought for confirmation of this report. Apparently it was true, for every one who had heard anything at all about it said the same thing. As Dick was leaving the gym he encountered Bertie Lee.
“Hello, Kid,” he called. “What do you know about the Highbridge game?”
“Only what I’ve heard. I was out to watch the Cornell game.”
“That report must be a josh,” said Dick. “Highbridge couldn’t beat Umpty-ten.”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” said Lee, swinging in at Dick’s side and stretching his short legs to catch Merriwell’s stride. “Say, I want to tell you something, Dick. I saw Lynch when he sneaked in onto the field to-day and I followed him. I think I was the first fellow to reach him after the ball stretched him out. Do you know what made me follow him?”
“Can’t say that I do.”