“I’m with you,” said Parker, with an oath. “I’d do a good deal to get even with Merriwell. And I’d rather show him up as a hypocrite than anything else I can think of, too.”
“Well, stick to me,” said Foote, “and you may have your wish.”
CHAPTER XIV
A DECLARATION OF WAR.
At Yale Field there was a spirit of optimism in the air that delighted Dick Merriwell.
The climax of the great baseball season was really at hand at last. After several years, in which Yale baseball teams had completely failed to uphold the prestige of the university in the national game, although Yale had been doing well in all other branches of sport, Dick Merriwell had, in one short season, brought the nine up to be a contender for the national intercollegiate championship.
The universal coach, after watching the aimless practice of the players for a few minutes, walked over to the stand, where Jim Phillips and big Bill Brady, his classmate, whose fame as a catcher was almost as great as that Jim had won as a pitcher, were practicing a new curve that Jim was trying to perfect.
“Get that ball ready, Jim,” he said. “I hope you won’t have to pitch another game for Yale this year, but it’s as well to be ready for emergencies.”
“That means Gray is to pitch for the team on Commencement Day, I suppose, Mr. Merriwell,” said Brady. “I’m glad to hear it. It will be a fine wind-up to his four years in college to beat Harvard on the same day that he gets his degree.”
“That’s the idea,” said Merriwell, smiling. “We’ll have to wait to see whether he can do it or not. But I certainly hope he can. He’s worked mighty hard, and he’s improved tremendously since the beginning of the season. He and Taylor make a fine battery now, and I guess Taylor’s learned a lot about catching from you, Brady.”