“What? You don’t mean to say anybody can pitch a ball like that?”
“I believe there is a man in the National League that claims to do it. Those who have seen him work say he really does pitch such a ball.”
“Impossible! The only drop it can have is the one given it by natural gravitation.”
“I know it seems that way, but they say his ball rises steadily after leaving his hand till it is more than two-thirds of the distance to the batter, and then takes a most remarkable down shoot. It is said to be a wicked ball to hit.”
“Well,” said Wallace, “I shall take no stock in such yarns till I am convinced by the evidence of my own eyes—and then I don’t know as I could believe it.”
“It is plain that you are prejudiced, and any man will waste his time who tries to convince you. There are hundreds of people in the country to-day who will not believe it possible to throw any kind of a curve. Some of them will not be convinced. They are not worth wasting time upon.”
With that Frank turned away. Wallace paled and pressed his lips together, for he felt that Merriwell’s final words were a thrust at him.
Mart Woodock slipped up to Wallace and muttered in his ear:
“That fellow thinks he knows it all. He makes me sick!”
“Well, I’m not stuck on him myself,” sulked Wallace. “I do not fancy being given even a mild calling down by such a chap as he.”