“Make him deliver the ball, Mr. Umpire, according to the rules. Don’t let him delay the game!”
A hit now meant the winning of the game.
Dick saw—Dick knew. Down to the ground he dropped, writhing in apparent pain, seemingly seized with cramps, while nearer and nearer came the hoofbeats of the galloping horses.
“Call a ball on him, Mr. Umpire!” cried the batter.
“You can’t make a sick man pitch,” said the umpire, with a strange grin. “Mr. Hodge, where is your next pitcher?”
Into the enclosure by the open gate dashed the horses and their riders.
“He is here!” rang out the clear voice of Hodge, as Frank Merriwell flung himself from the back of one of those horses and advanced.
CHAPTER XIX.
“THE MAN WHO WON THE GAME.”
“Yee-ee-ee!” screamed King Jimmy, the Conqueror, as he waved his tattered hat over his head. “Here he is, fellers!”
Then King Jimmy’s loyal subjects danced and capered and yelled and stood on their heads and turned cart-wheels.