“How about that, son?” inquired Grafter.
“Don’t you worry, dad,” advised Wallace. “I didn’t urge you to bet on the Merries without knowing what I was doing. I’ve found out all about Frank Merriwell. Mat O’Neill is a rattling good pitcher, but he’s met his match in Merriwell.”
Bob Gowan laughed, holding onto his fat sides.
“All boys are alike,” he said, “and your son is no more than a boy, Grafter. He has lots to learn.”
“All boys are not fools,” retorted Wallace. “I fancy that before the game is over to-day you’ll confess that you have learned something.”
Wallace was just a trifle disrespectful in his language. He was the young city man of the day, up-to-date, breezy, and assertive.
Mat O’Neill realized that Merriwell had made the best record in the first inning, yet he was confident that the youth could not keep it up. O’Neill had picked up his baseball in the rough-and-ready school of the independent and minor league teams, and he thought little of college pitchers, as a rule. Merriwell he considered in the class of the best college pitchers. Of course he was forced to admit that some college twirlers panned out well, for he knew what Clarkson, Matthewson, and others had done; but he thought them exceptions, and he believed Merriwell would be playing in one of the big leagues if he was fast enough.
Still O’Neill’s pride had been touched, and he felt a desire to demonstrate that he, too, could strike out three men in succession, if he desired. This desire led him to begin the second inning with the determination to do his handsomest.
Bart Hodge was the first man to face him. Hodge had a grim face and businesslike air.
O’Neill handed him a high inshoot. Bart struck and missed.