Rattleton was not encouraged by what happened to Merry, and he tunked an easy one down to Robinson, who threw Harry out at first.
“W’y, we’re just beginnin’ ter play ball!” cried McCann.
Dick Merriwell stepped out from the bench, his light, strong bat over his shoulder.
“Der kid will be pie, Bud!” cried Squinty.
“You didn’t find him pie yesterday,” said a voice from the bleachers, and the few who knew about the encounter in front of the Continental Hotel laughed heartily.
“I could lick dat babby ter-day,” thought Squinty. “I’d jest like ter do der trick afore all dis crowd. Den I guess dey wouldn’t laugh at me!”
He sat there, meditating on some manner of revenge. The more he thought about it the greater became his belief that he could easily whip Dick in another encounter.
Dick was fooled by the second one Nesbitt put over, and he missed it easily. Then followed one that was just where the boy wanted it, though it came with fearful speed.
The surprised spectators saw the lad strike at the ball with the quickness of a veteran, the bat meeting the sphere fairly. It was a pretty hit into left field, and Dick ran with the speed of a frightened fawn.