“But I’d rather have the strike,” confessed Dick.
Frank cut only two pins out of the bunch with his first ball, and it began to look bad for him; but he placed the second ball perfectly, sweeping off all the remaining pins but one, which gave him a score of nineteen in his seventh box, the total being eighty-two. He knocked down the last pin with his third ball, which added ten more for his eighth box.
Strangely enough, Starbright did precisely the same thing with all three balls, getting only two on his spare, which left Merriwell but three points behind in the seventh and eighth boxes.
“This is too close for comfort, Dick,” palpitated Dashleigh. “You have let him come right up on you. You must hold your lead in the last two boxes.”
Frank was in fine fettle. He had a “good eye,” and his hand was steady, while his aim was perfect. Again he put a ball into the heart of the bunch, striking the head pin on the quarter, and again he cleaned the alley.
“Wow!” whooped Ready, dancing about. “Wouldn’t I cut a cake of ice in this game! My! My! I don’t know a thing about bowling!”
“It’s the first time in all your life that you ever told the truth,” flung back Browning.
“Frank will win!” murmured Inza, and somehow Winnie fancied that she seemed disappointed.
Starbright did not smile now. His strong, handsome face looked grim and resolute. He sent a straight, true ball shooting down the alley, and, like a flash, every pin was swept off clean. Then what a shout went up! Both had made a strike in the ninth!
Dashleigh leaped to his feet and danced with joy, while Phil wished to hug his big brother.