“That beats all!” he cried. “Why, that fellow is a regular blunder-heels. He can’t play marbles!”
“Wait and see. He’ll be another surprise, or I’m mistaken. He is a slugger with a stick, and no mistake. Tried to fool him one day, and he seemed able to rap out anything I gave him. He dug ’em out of the dirt with his bat, took ’em two feet off from the base, and reached up into the air and drove ’em out. The pitcher who tries to fool him will drop dead before the game is over.”
“Well,” said Bart, slowly, “you have seemed to be a pretty good judge of ball players, old man, but I think you are away off this time. You have named the most confounded aggregation ever seen around here.”
“The other side will be confounded,” smiled Frank. “Wait and see, old man. All I ask of you is to do your prettiest.”
“You may be sure I will.”
CHAPTER XIV.
OUT OF PRACTICE.
A large crowd turned out to witness the six-inning game between the ’varsity nine and Frank Merriwell’s “scrub” team. Yale was anxious about her ball team, for it was not showing up as well as it should, while Harvard and Princeton were said to be in prime condition.
Despite his popularity, Frank had enemies in college, and those enemies were circulating the report that his arm was “broken,” that he had a “dead wing,” and that his day as a pitcher was past. They declared Yale was leaning on a broken reed when it depended on Merriwell to win games.
There were stories about the new pitchers to be brought out by Harvard and Princeton. They were feared not a little.