“Lace ’em out, Kit!” implored Sprowl, as Kitson advanced to the plate. “He’s easy.”
Never in his life had Merry pitched with greater ease. He used curves, speed and a change of pace, having perfect control. Although he could handle the “spit ball,” he did not attempt to use it. He did not believe it necessary.
Kitson was anxious to hit. Merry seemed to give him pretty ones, but the ball took queer curves and shoots, and soon the right fielder of the Elks struck out.
The third inning was over, and neither side had scored. It was a battle royal between Wolfers and Merriwell.
Up to this point two clean hits, one a two-bagger, had been made off Wolfers.
Merriwell had not permitted a hit.
Morgan opened the fourth by smashing a hot one along the ground to Rush, who stopped it but chased it round his feet long enough for Dade to canter down to first.
“Here we go!” roared Browning.
“You won’t go very far!” sneered Wolfers.
Badger tried to sacrifice, but his bunt lifted a little pop fly to Wolfers, and he was out.