“Then don’t talk! They have not scored, and we may be able to make this a draw game, if we can’t get in a run.”
Black Elrich was worried, although his face looked perfectly calm, with the strained expression of the gambler who is unchangeable before victory or defeat. At his side, Dan Mahoney was seething.
“Hang it!” he grated. “If it had only been that catcher’s right hand! The woman made a terrible blunder!”
“No one would have thought him able to catch, anyhow,” said Elrich.
“The big mitt protects his hand.”
“Still, it must hurt him every time the ball strikes, for Merriwell has been using all kinds of speed.”
Morley came up to the place where he knew Elrich was sitting.
“What do you think?” he asked, in a low tone. “The boys can’t hit Merriwell, and it’s too late to try to buy Harris, the umpire, now. Can’t you start a riot and break up the game?”
“If you start it, it is worth a hundred dollars to you,” said Elrich, “even though that will throw all bets off, and I’ll make nothing. What say?”
“I can’t!” muttered Morley. “If I did so, Harris would give the game to the other side, and you’d lose just the same. If the spectators start it, it will be all right.”