“He fooled me,” he acknowledged. “Still I should have hit ’em.”
“Never mind,” said Cronin. “I’ll start something.”
Ben Raybold was sitting on the bleachers. He smiled the least bit as he saw Merry easily dispose of Kitson.
“He seems to be in his best form,” thought the backer of the visitors. “If so, I’ve won a hundred. I wish I’d made it more.”
The eyes of Bart Hodge were gleaming. He hammered a hole into his big mitt with his fist.
“Drop ’em into that pocket, Merry, old boy,” he cried. “You know how to do it.”
“You bet my life he knows how!” cried Dunnerwurst.
“They’re all swelled up over striking you out, Kit,” said Rush.
“It won’t be so easy next time,” declared Kitson. “I’m onto his tricks.”
“Plenty of speed.”