How the Tigers roared! How their colors fluttered and waved! No wonder they were delighted. Yale had her very best team on the field.
The Yale fans looked weary.
“That’s ten runs for Princeton,” said Chan Webb, who, with Cowles, Mullen, and Nash, had come down to see Lib Benson play in right field. Benson was one of their particular set. He had once been an enemy of Merriwell, but he soon found that he was making himself very unpopular, and he changed his tune. However, his friends had prophesied that he could not make the ball-team as long as Merry was captain. In this he had shown them they were mistaken, for Frank had put him into right field, though his ambition was to cover a bag.
“That’s right,” nodded Gil Cowles gloomily. “And it looks as if they might make more. Nobody’s out.”
“Ye gods!” sobbed Irving Nash. “It’s an awful thing to lose this game, and that man Mason is to blame for it all.”
“Right!” exclaimed Cowles. “Princeton has made ten scores, and Mason is responsible for exactly six of them. His first muff let in four, and this one let in two more. He’s a bird!”
“He’s not to blame at all,” asserted Mullen, to the astonishment of his companions.
“Why isn’t he?” they fiercely demanded, turning on him. “Who is to blame?”
“Merriwell,” said Mullen grimly.