“Oh, he might—by accident,” returned Frank, who seemed ready to talk to anybody. “I have known more surprising things than that to happen.”
Stubbs nudged Sydney Gooch.
“He knows he’s going to be hammered,” said Stubbs. “See him get the fielders back.”
“I hope they will hit every one he throws!” said Gooch, maliciously, as he fingered his throat, thinking how Merriwell’s fingers had felt there once on a time.
Browning had slouched down to first as if going to his own funeral. There was a sad and hopeless look on his face, that made him look even more dismal than Jones.
Frank turned to look at him, and then burst out laughing heartily.
“Come, come, Bruce!” he cried. “It isn’t quite as bad as that. Wake up, now, for I am going to get into gear and shoot ’em over.”
Browning said nothing, but his face did not grow a whit less dejected.
Jeffers poised his bat, and Merriwell faced him. Then the first ball was sent spinning toward the backstop.
Jeffers knew it was a fine thing to hit the first ball pitched, if possible, as it made a good showing for the batter. He went at this one.