Dick missed his first effort, and Frank was given the balls again. He sought to get them together for a run, and the attempt caused him to fail to count with his second shot.
“You want only eleven to tie, Dick!” palpitated Phil. “You can get ’em. I’ve known you to run thirty.”
Once more Starbright tried to steady his nerves and play with the coolness that was a feature of Merriwell’s work. Somehow that coolness made the big fellow feel sure that under ordinary circumstances Frank would completely outrank him at billiards. But the prize lured Starbright to do his best. That Christmas sleigh-ride with Inza was something worth working for.
Click, click, click—the big freshman tapped off the points, Dashleigh counting the buttons as he slid them along the wire. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—ha! at last the ivories rolled hard and lay in an extremely difficult position.
Pausing to study the shot, Dick heard Badger whisper to Winnie that he must surely miss.
“I won’t miss!” he mentally cried.
Then, with his utmost skill and nerve, he played a cushion-carom shot and counted.
“Good!” exclaimed Frank, promptly leading the applause.
Dick wiped the perspiration from his face. Not even the strain and thrill and excitement of a football-game could set his nerves on edge like this.
Inza’s laugh caused him to thrill with pleasure.