Nobody said a word. All seemed to feel that Pooler was right.
Merry remembered how Billy Mains had paralyzed the Baltimore batter by sending in a double-shoot for the first ball, and he resolved to try it on the Princeton man. Bart signaled for a drop, but Frank gave him a signal that told his decision to use the double-shoot at the very start.
Having taken plenty of time, Merriwell sent in a “smoker.” The ball made a sharp outcurve, and then curved inward so quickly that it passed fairly over the outside corner of the plate, although it had looked like a wild one.
“One strike!” cried the umpire.
The batter dropped his stick and stared at Merriwell, while cries of astonishment came from the grand stand.
The face of Bart Hodge was calm and cold as ice, while his nerves were steady as a clock, although they had been badly shaken till Frank entered the box.
“Have I got ’em?” muttered the batter, as he rubbed his eyes and picked up his bat.
“What’s the matter?” sharply asked the captain of the team. “Why did you drop it?”
“You should have seen that ball!” returned the man at the plate. “It had more curves than a corkscrew! I’ll bet he can’t do it again.”
Not a word did Frank say, but again he assumed a position that told Hodge he would pitch a double-shoot.