"How do you Harvard chaps like Merriwell's style?" yelled a Yale enthusiast as the cheering subsided.
Then there was more cheering, and the freshmen of 'Umpty-eight were entirely happy.
The man who followed Frank promptly flied out to first, which quenched the enthusiasm of the Yale gang somewhat and gave Harvard's admirers an opportunity to make a noise.
Frank longed to get in his score, which would leave Harvard with a lead of but one. He felt that he must get home some way.
Danny Griswold came to the bat.
"Get me home some way, Danny," urged Frank.
The little shortstop said not a word, but there was determination in his eyes. He grasped his stick firmly and prayed for one of his favorite high balls.
But Peck kept them low on Danny, who took a strike, and then was pulled on a bad one.
With two strikes on him and only one ball, the case looked desperate for Danny. Still he did not lose his nerve. He did not think he could not hit the ball, but he made himself believe that he was bound to hit it. To himself he kept saying:
"I'll meet it next time—I'll meet it sure."