“Wow! wow! wow!” he yapped, as he picked himself up. “Where’d you get that speed, Merriwell? How can you do it with your little left? Be gentle! be gentle! Give me a chance to look at the ball when it comes over.”
“All right,” said Dick. “How’s this?”
He lobbed up a slow one, and O’Mora nearly broke his back reaching out to hit the ball before it was anywhere near the plate.
Marone snapped at the batter, and O’Mora shook his head with a comical look of dismay.
“I won’t strike out!” he muttered to himself. But that was precisely what he did do. Dick worked with all the craft at his command, and finally led O’Mora into reaching for a nasty curve which he could not touch.
Yale came to bat in the last of the ninth, with the score four to two against them.
“We’ve got to have two to tie and three to win,” said Dick cheerfully. “Here’s where we get them.”
But the wrong end of the batting list was up. Jones was to be followed by Spratt, Bigelow, and Fitch, the three weakest hitters on the team.
“Get to first, Blessed,” urged Merriwell. “Get there somehow.”
Although the captain felt that it might not do any good, he stalked forth and smote the ball a terrific crack that landed him on the initial sack.