Bob Collingwood was growing enthusiastic.
"That Merriwell is full of tricks," he declared. "Think how he secretly coached the freshman crew up on the Oxford stroke last fall and won the race at Saltonstall. If it hadn't been for a traitor nobody would have known what he was doing with the crew, for he wouldn't let them practice at the machines."
"I have had my eye on him ever since he entered Yale," confessed Pierson. "I have seen that he is destined to come to the front."
The batter seemed angry because he had been deceived so easily, and this gave Frank satisfaction, for an angry man can be deceived much easier than one who keeps cool.
Merriwell held them close in on the batter, who made four fouls in succession, getting angrier each moment. By this time an outdrop was the thing to fool him, and it worked nicely.
"Three strikes and out!" called the umpire.
Frank had struck out two men, and the Yale crowd could not cheer loud enough to express their delight.
Old Put was delighted beyond measure, but he was keeping pretty still, for he knew what he was sure to hear if Yale did not pull the game out some way. He knew everybody would be asking him why he did not put Merriwell in the box before.
Lewis Little was hugging himself with satisfaction, while Dismal Jones' long face actually wore something suggestive of a smile.
Rattleton felt like standing on his head and kicking up his heels with the delight he could not express.