"Whoop 'er up for 'Umpty-eight!" howled a fellow with a heavy voice. "What's the matter with 'Umpty-eight?"
"She's all right!" went up the hoarse roar.
"What's the matter with Merriwell?"
"He's all right!" again came that roar.
When the shouting had subsided, Rattleton touched Harris on the shoulder and laughingly asked:
"Do I win?"
"Not yet. There are two more coming."
"But I win just as hard, my boy."
"Hope you do."
The next Harvard batter came up, determined to do something, although he was a trifle uncertain. He let the first one pass and heard a strike called, which did not please him much. The second one was a coaxer, and he let that ball go by. The umpire called a ball. The third was a high one, but it looked good, and he tried for it. It proved to be a rise, and he struck under it at least a foot.