“I didn’t win it,” he laughed. “Dick and Bart Hodge deserve all the credit.”
“Not all the credit,” she denied. “But who is this Bart Hodge? Is he really a tramp?”
“Hardly that!” smiled Gardner. “He’s a chum and comrade of Dick Merriwell’s brother, Frank.”
“Well, how does he happen to be here now?”
“Frank Merriwell sent him. He couldn’t come himself, and so he sent Hodge. It was a mighty lucky thing for us that Hodge turned up just when he did. No other man could have gone behind the bat and handled Dick’s pitching to-day.”
“What was the matter with Brad Buckhart? He actually seemed crazy.”
Earl shook his head.
“That was something mighty queer,” he said. “Buckhart was ill—he’s ill now, and he has two bad-looking eyes. That ball struck him between the eyes, and they are nearly closed up.”
“It was dreadful!” said Grace. “It frightened all the girls. I thought he was killed.”
“It takes something harder than a baseball to kill that Texan,” declared Gardner. “Dick tried to induce him to go to a doctor, but he remained through the game and kept a wet handkerchief over his bruise.”