Dick looked at Frank. If Merriwell had laughed then, it is possible the boy would have stopped in a perfect tempest of anger; but Frank stood aside, looking quite grave and interested.
“I will catch it!” thought the lad. “I’ll show him that I can catch it!”
Then he cried for Jack to hit out another one.
“Well, that’s the stuff from which heroes and ball-players are made,” said Ready, as he complied.
This time Jack did not bat the ball directly into Dick’s hands, and the latter was forced to run after it a little. Again he got his hands on it, and this time he managed to catch it.
“Good!” cried Frank approvingly. “That was well done!”
To the amazement of Dick himself, he thrilled with satisfaction on hearing those words of praise from Frank. But he would not try to catch any more then.
“That’s right,” laughed Ready. “You have a level head, for you know when to retire on your laurels. I wish I knew as much. I would have retired long ago.”
Then Bart Hodge put on the big mitt, while Ready stood up to strike the ball. A flat stone was the plate, and from it Frank paced off the regular pitching-distance.
Then, with great speed, Frank pitched the ball. Ready fanned, and Bart caught it, close under the bat.