“You’ll get no safe hit off me,” asserted Wolfers.
He was mistaken. Ready did not try to “kill” the ball. He took a short hold on his bat and drove a clean hit out between first and second.
Rattleton stretched his legs and raced to third, while Ready took first.
Wolfers was disturbed.
“Here’s where de Merries win der game!” yelled a small boy. “Frank Merriwell is goin’ ter hit, an’ he always does de trick.”
Instantly a dozen of his companions turned on him.
“What’s der matter with you, Spud Bailey?” snarled a big chap, with red hair and plenty of freckles. “Wolfers will strike him out!”
“Bet you two hundred t’ousan’ dollars he don’t!” hotly retorted Spud. “Dey never strike dat boy out!”
“Bet your small change,” advised Freckles. “How do you know so much?”
“I’ve read about Frank Merriwell. Wot’s der matter with you! You’re a back number!”