“She’s glad I made it!” he told himself. “Now I know I’m going to win!”
Having succeeded at that critical point, Dick soon brought the balls together, astonishing himself by his skill in this respect. Never before had he made so many hard shots with absolute confidence, and the witnesses of his work were breathless with suspense.
“He is going to win!” breathed Winnie, clutching Buck’s arm.
“Don’t you believe it!” returned the Westerner stiffly. “Frank won’t let him win.”
Ten points, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five—no, he failed on the twenty-fifth.
“Eighty-eight points to Merry’s seventy-five,” announced Dashleigh. “You’re just thirteen ahead, Dick.”
“Thirteen?” exclaimed the freshman, with a start of annoyance.
“The fatal number again!” exclaimed Inza, but she laughed.
“Here’s where you have to do it, if you’re going to do it at all, Merry,” said Browning. “Twelve more points lets Starbright out, and you’ll ride with me to-morrow, instead of with Inza.”
Frank needed twenty-five, and he started in to make them, but the balls persisted in running hard, despite his greatest care. Time after time he came near missing, but not till he had scored ninety-four buttons in all did he fail to count.