“What makes you think that?” she asked.
“Oh, I know—I can tell! He doesn’t think me very smart. He doesn’t think I could ever play ball if I tried, but I’d like to show him!”
Now this was the very feeling that Frank had sought to awaken in his spirited brother, for he knew it would serve to spur the boy on.
Sometimes Frank, Bart, and Jack talked of old times and the excitement of the baseball-games in which they had participated, and then, if he fancied himself unobserved, Dick would linger near and listen, though he pretended to take no interest whatever in what they were saying.
More and more the desire grew within him to witness a regular ball-game. He was a boy who loved excitement, and he pictured the dashing, desperate struggle of two baseball-nines, with the cheering spectators to urge them on.
One day Frank left the valley, with Dick for a companion, and rode to Urmiston. They were mounted on two spirited horses, and the lad took delight in giving Merry a hard race to the little town, but found that the “tenderfoot” was pretty nearly a perfect horseman.
At Urmiston, Merriwell received two letters which seemed to give him considerable satisfaction, but, after reading them, he thrust them both into his pocket, saying nothing at that time of their contents. On the way back to Pleasant Valley, however, Merry suddenly observed:
“Well, Dick, I am going away soon.”
“Are you?” said the boy. “That is good!”
“I thought you would be glad of it. A number of my friends are coming from the East, and we are going to organize a baseball-team. We’ll play such clubs as we can get games with, and so pass the summer.”