By this time Gordon was rattled, and he sent the next ball over the heart of the plate. The batter nailed it for two bags, and two men came home.
Gordon walked out of the box and up to the bench where Old Put was sitting.
"I am sick," he declared.
He looked as if he spoke the truth.
"I thought something was the matter with you," said the manager. "You're white as a sheet. It's folly for you to practice while you are in this condition."
Gordon put on his sweater and then drew his coat over that. He wandered off by himself and sat down.
"Hang that fellow Merriwell!" he whispered to himself. "I never thought he would bother me so much. I am beginning to hate him. He is too cool and easy to suit me."
The practice was continued, and Merriwell showed up finely, so that Old Put was pleased.
The sophomores quit trying to have sport with the freshmen, as it happened that two of the professors had wandered into the park and were looking on from a distance.
Browning saw them.