“Lucky for us,” nodded Frank, as Carson and Hodge shook hands. “You are the eighth man for our ball-team, if we can get you to come in with us.”
The eyes of the Colorado lad showed his satisfaction.
“You can count on me for anything, Merriwell,” he asserted. “The governor is sure to let me join you, for he thinks you are just about the proper thing, and he has thought so ever since he first met you. He knows I’d never made the varsity nine if it hadn’t been for you, and that makes him think all the more of you. You may count on me. Where are your other men?”
“They’re out looking the city over.”
“Who are they?”
Frank told him.
“All good men but Carker,” said Carson; “and he can put up a good game when he gets right down to it.”
“But we’re still a man short,” said Hodge. “Merriwell has a brother, a perfect little wonder; but he’s too young—only thirteen.”
“A brother?” exclaimed Carson, who knew nothing of recent developments in connection with Frank.
Then Merriwell briefly outlined the whole strange story, having a very interested listener.