“Now get right after Merriwell, boys,” urged Lawrence, as his players reached the bench. “Clinch the game at the start, and then take it easy. Put us into it, Kit.”
Merriwell did not limp as he walked out. His ankle was tightly supported with a broad leather band. In warming up he had found that his control was perfect. He could put the ball exactly where he pleased, and he felt that on this day he would be in his best form. He also felt that he would need all his skill.
Kitson laughed.
“Just put one over and see me bump it,” he urged.
Frank looked round to make sure every man was in position.
“We’re all behind you, Merry,” assured Rattleton. “Let him mump it a bile—I mean bump it a mile!”
The first ball pitched looked good to Kitson. It was speedy and quite high.
Just as the batter slashed at it the ball took a sharp rise, or jump, and the bat encountered nothing but empty air.
“Stir-r-r-rike—kah one!” came from the umpire.
Spud Bailey seized the first opportunity to rejoice.