“Then your repertoire needs replenishing,” said Merry.
So the little jokers were repressed for the time, although they were sure to break out again and again at the slightest provocation, or without any provocation.
“What makes us feel real bad,” said Diamond, “is that we were unable to get along soon enough to witness the great ball-game to-day between Yale and Harvard. I felt sure Yale would win.”
“Merriwell won the game himself,” declared Oliver Packard, who had once played on the nine, but whose standing as an athlete and whose chance to take part in athletic sports had been ruined by the actions of his brother. “It was the greatest work I ever saw.”
“Right!” agreed Carker, the socialist, also a ballplayer of no mean caliber. “The manner in which he stopped Harvard from scoring near the end of the game was enough to set every Yale man wild with admiration. It was great!”
“Great!” nodded Jim Hooker.
“Magnificent!” laughed Bert Dashleigh.
“Hot stuff!” nodded Ralph Bingham.
Rattleton, Stubbs, Griswold, Gallup, Dunnerwurst, and Mulloy had reached the field after the game began, but in the vast throng they had been unobserved by Merry. All were profuse in their compliments for Frank, but he cut them short.
“Every man on the nine played as if his life depended on the result,” he declared. “They deserve just as much credit as I do.”