“Oh, yes; but we like speed.”
“Sure. We eat speed. If he keeps burnin’ ’em over, we’ll fall on him pretty soon and pound him to the four winds.”
Merry remembered Cronin’s weakness. He kept the ball close to the fellow, and, having both control and speed, found it just as easy to strike him out.
“Well! well!” cried the big man with the stentorian voice. “What’s the matter, boys?”
“Get a hit, Sparksie,” urged Rush. “I think I can boost you along.”
“Let him give me some of those swift inshoots,” muttered Sparks.
This, however, Merry declined to do. He kept the ball away from Sparks, although starting it straight at him at least twice. His outcurve was wonderfully wide, and it quite bewildered the batter.
Wolfers had ceased to grin. He realized that Merriwell was “showing him up” in the first inning.
“Oh, well,” he muttered, “a strike-out pitcher isn’t the whole cheese.”
Still he was nettled.