Grafter could not repress a smile of satisfaction. He did not like Manton, and it was his earnest wish that Merriwell would push the fellow hard, if he could not win.
“You’re getting the range of the alley,” he said. “Of course you were taken at a disadvantage, not being familiar with it. You should have rolled a few before beginning.”
Frank nodded. He realized that Grafter was right, but it was too late to rectify the mistake.
“For one thing,” he said, “I think I made a mistake in the first ball I used. The finger grip was not just right for me. The holes were a trifle too close together.”
“That’s odd,” said Frost. “That’s the pet ball of Spaulding, the champion of the Knickerbocker Bowling Club and the second best man in this club.”
“Without doubt his hand is built differently from mine,” said Merriwell. “It’s a fine ball, but not suited to the breadth of my grip.”
“When I fizzle I’ll tell you why it happened,” laughed Manton, in a most irritating manner.
Hodge felt like punching the fellow; but Frank remained in nowise disturbed.
The Eagle Heights man took his time when the pins were spotted. He chalked the soles of his feet, moistened his fingers the least bit with the sponge, chose his favorite ball, made his habitual swing and smashed down every pin for the third time.