"It's ten to one he won't be able to find the plate for five minutes. I believe I can see him shaking from here."
The Harvard crowd had never heard of Merriwell, and they regarded him with no little interest as he walked into the box. When the Yale spectators were through cheering Harvard took it up in a derisive way, and it certainly was enough to rattle any fellow with ordinary nerves.
But Frank did not seem to hear all the howling. He paid no attention to the cheers of his friends or the jeers of the other party. He seemed in no great hurry. He made sure that every man was in position, felt of the pitcher's plate with his foot, kicked aside a small pebble, and then took any amount of time in preparing to deliver.
Collingwood began to show some interest. He punched Pierson in the ribs with his elbow and observed:
"Hanged if he acts as if he is badly rattled!"
"That's so. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry," admitted Paul. "He is using his head at the very start, for he is giving himself time to become cool and steady."
"He has Gibson, the best batter on the Harvard team, facing him. Gibson is bound to get a safe hit."
"He is pretty sure to, and that is right."
Merriwell knew that Nort Gibson was the heaviest and surest batter on the Harvard team, but he had been watching the fellow all through the game, trying to "get his alley." He had seen Gibson light on a drop and smash it fiercely, and then he had seen him get a safe hit off a rise, while an outcurve did not fool him at all, as he would bang it if it came over the plate or let it alone when it went outside.
Frank's mind was made up, and he had resolved to give Gibson everything in close to his fingers. Then, if he did hit it, he was not liable to knock it very far.