Frank was not trying to make a brilliant record on strike-outs, but he was holding his opponents down on hits.
The next man up struck out, however, and then Yale once again came to the bat.
For the next three innings the score remained just the same; Princeton had made six, while Yale had not been able to score, although Merriwell, Hodge, Browning, Jeffers and Wintz obtained good hits. Finch, however, was keeping the hits scattered, and the cloud of gloom had settled thickly over the few Yale rooters huddled on the bleachers.
Merriwell was toying with Princeton’s best batters. Whenever it looked as if a good man had Merriwell in a hole, he would “put on steam,” send in one or two more of those baffling double-shoots, and strike the man out.
The rooters growled. Why hadn’t Frank gone in at the start? Then it might have been different. Now the game was lost beyond recovery.
“That shows what a fine manager he is,” sneered Pooler.
In the sixth inning Yale seemed in just as bad luck as ever. The first two men up went out, and then Hodge came to the bat. There was fire in Bart’s eye. He waited for a good one, and then smashed it out for one of the longest drives of the day, landing on third before the outfielders could get the sphere back into the diamond.
Merriwell was the next batter. He was very particular in the selection of a wagon-tongue bat, and, when he came up, he resolved to bring Bart in if possible.
Finch was shooting them over like bullets. He tried to strike Frank out, and that was where he made his mistake. Merry picked out a good one, found it, met it, and sent it humming.
In came Hodge, while Frank made two bags with ease.