Following this, Merry sent in a sharp rise that nearly dragged the batter off his feet in an endeavor to chase it. It was not even a foul tip, and Bart smothered the ball in his big mitt.
“You’re out!” cried the umpire.
“He doesn’t seem to need to limber up, dear sir,” chirped Jack Ready. “Oh, dear, dear! what queer quirks he can put into the ball! Isn’t it really and truly remarkable!”
“You’re a mark, Hay!” laughed McGlinkey, as he picked up the bat the first hitter had tossed aside. “Before I’d let him strike me out! Why, I’m going to knock the ball a mile!”
He did not succeed in coming anywhere near keeping his word, for Merry deceived him on the very first one pitched over. It was an in shoot, and the ball struck the handle of the bat close to McGlinkey’s knuckles. Up into the air went the sphere, and Merry easily captured it as it came down.
“La! la!” came from Jack Ready. “Isn’t it awfully easy! But it isn’t fair not to give anybody else a show. The rest of us want something to do, just to keep warm.”
Now Merriwell’s admirers broke loose in a bunch, and the way they shouted for him was enough to warm the heart of his brother.
“Everybody seems to know Frank,” thought Dick. “And they all think him a wonder. Hear them cheer for him!”
Hodge was feeling better, and the frown was disappearing from his face, for he saw that Merry was in the best possible trim, which meant that there would be little heavy hitting done by the professionals in that game.
“Keep it up, Merry,” he said. “They can’t touch you to-day, old man.”