“You can’t make that, Starbright,” asserted Browning. “I don’t believe it can be made.”
“Oh, there is a way to make any shot on the table,” Frank asserted.
But Dick was not so sure of succeeding in this case. He took great pains, and succeeded. It was a handsome shot, and Merriwell gave a cry of admiration and approval.
“That reminds me of my playing,” murmured Ready. “It is so different, you know.”
Inza gave Dick a smile of admiring approval, which did not escape Frank’s keen eyes. But the balls remained separated, and Starbright’s success and the applause that had greeted the feat seemed to rattle the big freshman, so that he missed the very next shot.
“I must get them together and hold them,” thought Frank. “No fancy playing in this. The fellow might run forty or fifty any minute, and that would be my Waterloo.”
However, his effort to bring the balls together caused him to miss the very first attempt, and left the ivories for Starbright, everything being favorable.
Thinking of the prize for which they were contending had made Dick nervous, despite the fact that he had always fancied his nerves were like iron. The glances he had received from Inza had added to his nervousness, so that he discovered his hand was shaking a trifle.
Immediately he braced up, not wishing any one to discover that he was in that condition. He was deliberate in his movements, though inwardly eager and in haste.
The first shot attempted was made by a rank scratch, although he made no sign that he had not tried for it in that manner. Instead of rattling him more, the shock of getting the point after he thought he had missed it served to steady his nerves. He looked toward Inza as he came round the table. Their eyes met, and he fancied she was urging him to do his best.