Frank Merriwell's Son; Or, A Chip Off the Old Block

by Burt L. Standish

Three minutes later the Rovers, in tigerish suits of yellow and black, trotted out from their dressing rooms.

Back of the ropes near first base a tough-looking crowd of Wellsburgans greeted the professionals with a cheer.

"Eat 'em up, McCann!" howled a husky fellow with a broken nose. "Take some of the conceit outer this Merriwell to-day! He's been crowing over Wellsburg long enough!"

Merry glanced around and saw Hunker, with several of his assistants, gathering in the vicinity of this tough crowd.

"Bill is onto his job," muttered Frank. "If there's any disturbance those fellows will make it."

The Rovers took the field for practice. They handled themselves like professionals, and many of their clever catches or stops elicited exclamations of wonderment and applause.

Casper Silence and Basil Bearover approached Frank.

"Where's your umpire, Merriwell?" demanded Bearover.

Merry looked round and motioned to Gregory Carker. Carker promptly stepped forward.

"Here he is," said Frank.