Bruce Browning grunted.
“Another one like that will break his heart, Merriwell,” he said. “He may be a good man when things are going his way, but he can’t stand grief.”
Frank said nothing. He sat there as if taking very little interest in the game, but he was watching Walbert closely.
Beverage, Princeton’s short, was the second batter. He laughed as he came to the plate; he laughed in Walbert’s face. The Tigers were full of confidence. They had heard all about Yale’s weak points, and they were looking for a snap.
Walbert resolved that Beverage should not get a hit off the first ball pitched to him, so he sent him an outcurve that a four-foot bat could not have reached.
The ball was so wide that Hodge had to fling himself after it, and he lost his footing.
A great cry of delight and mingled derision went up.
Varney was scudding down to second, and Hodge was on his knees. But Bart had stopped the ball, and now he turned. Without attempting to get upon his feet, he drew back his arm and sent a liner flying toward second base.
It was possible that every one but Frank Merriwell was surprised by this attempt of the catcher to throw to second while on his knees. A shout of contempt and merriment went up.
That shout turned to one of astonishment, for they saw the ball fly through the air like a bullet, seeming to shoot on a dead line for second. It did not seem that a man could make such a throw while on his knees. It did seem like a miracle.