After dinner not one of the men was permitted to smoke. Bruce groaned for his pipe, but Frank said no, and that settled it.
By two o’clock the cars for the baseball-grounds were crowded. It became evident that a great crowd would turn out to the game.
It was two-thirty when Merriwell’s team appeared on the field. They were greeted with cheers from the spectators.
St. Paul had sent over a great throng of rooters for Merriwell, his feat of the previous day having won the admiration of the fans across the river.
Frank’s team was given the field first for practise. Two men from the other team volunteered to bat.
Dick Merriwell pulled on the catcher’s glove and Merry started in to limber up a little. He was pale, as Dick observed.
“Anything the matter?” asked the boy.
Frank shook his head.
Merry started throwing easily and slowly, but several times he stopped to brush a hand across his eyes. Twice after doing this he threw the ball far to one side of Dick.
The boy was seized by a conviction that something was wrong, but Frank would not say so.