Of course the Merries were sent to bat first, as this gave the locals their last opportunity.
Wolfers was chewing gum and grinning when he went into the box. He looked more than ever like a wolf, yet he seemed to be very good-natured. The crowd cheered him and he touched his cap in acknowledgment.
“Good old Bobby!” howled the same big man who had made himself heard so often at the game with the Cuban Giants. “You’re the boy! This will be a picnic for you.”
The usual gathering of small boys was to be seen. Spud Bailey was on hand, and he seemed to be an object of much ridicule.
“Oh, you know er lot erbout baseball!” sneered Freckles, while all the others laughed. “Mebbe you’ve got it inter dat nut of yourn that them Merriwell fellers will win dis game?”
“I has,” acknowledged Spud defiantly.
They jeered him.
“You don’t know ernough ter come in w’en it rains,” said Freckles.
“You’ll know more arter ther game. Frank Merriwell is goin’ ter pitch ther whole of this one.”
“Dey’ll pound him outer der box inside of t’ree innin’s.”