“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” roared the crowd.
A look of dismay came to the handsome face of the captain of the Yale nine as the crowd broke into a great cheer when he appeared on the platform of the car.
The little fellow with the freckled face and the knot of dark-blue ribbon pinned on his jacket shinned to the shoulders of a man and shrieked:
“There he is! There he is! There he is! That’s Frank Merriwell, the greatest pitcher that ever lived! Hoop-ee! Yee! Hoo-ray!”
Frank saw this excited youthful admirer, whose freckled face fairly gleamed with joyous admiration, and he was forced to laugh outright. That laugh won to Merriwell many friends in the crowd. Indeed, there was something so magnetic and winning about this handsome youth that his mere appearance on the platform of the car was enough to make him friends.
Many in the crowd had heard of Frank and conceived a prejudice against him, fancying him a college youth with a swelled head, but even these were struck by his handsome proportions, his graceful, muscular figure, his fine head and that look of clean manliness which stamped him as a fellow with lofty thoughts and ambitions.
No[No] one could mistake any other for Frank now that Frank had appeared. The word “leader” was written all over him. And yet, remarkable to say, there was not about him the least suggestion of conceit. To be sure, he regarded himself with a certain amount of self-esteem, and it is requisite that any man should so look upon himself if he wishes to win the esteem of others. But the fact that his appearance in any place should create so much excitement and enthusiasm was something he could not understand, and he never ceased wondering over it. It seemed quite inexplicable, for he could not believe that he had ever done anything extraordinary enough to make himself thus well known and admired.
As Frank descended the car-steps he was met by Phil Drake, the captain of the U. V. nine, who grasped his hand, uttering some words of welcome.
But Merry looked round for the little freckled fellow who had uttered such a joyous shriek on seeing him. He found the boy in the clutch of the man upon whose shoulders he had perched, and the man was shaking him roughly, growling:
“Climb me for a tree, will yo’? I’ll teach yo’ better manners, yo’ brat!”