“He’ll be fruit for our boys!” whooped a third.
“You’ll find it some different, gents,” muttered Buck Badger, as he tossed the big catcher’s mitt at his feet for a base in order to let Merry find control by throwing over it. “This game is ours now. That’s whatever!”
Wolfers grinned viciously. There was something about his appearance, as well as his name, that suggested a wolf. He was pleased to see Merriwell preparing to enter the box, for he had absolute confidence in himself. But he discovered a sudden and surprising change in the manner of the batters. Starbright went after the ball with resolution, making foul after foul.
“Oh, you would, would ye!” muttered the Elkton pitcher. “Well, why don’t ye!”
“Tut-tut-taking a bub-bub-bite out of it every time, Dick!” cried Joe Gamp. “You’ll land on the trade-mark in a minute.”
“Yah!” nodded Dunnerwurst; “der trade-mark vill land on you in a minute, py Shimminy! Id vill knock you a mile.”
“Strike him out, Wolfers!” implored the spectators. “He’s easy. Strike the big fellow out!”
Wolfers was working hard, and he finally succeeded in fooling the yellow-haired chap to his satisfaction, for Dick missed the third strike and was declared out.
“How easy!” laughed a man on the bleachers. “That’s the kind of a pitcher to have!”
“That’s the kind they raise up in Wisconsin,” said another man.