“That’s what it is,” agreed another. “Why, that boy can’t hold down Morgan’s team!”
“Merriwell must be daffy to put his brother into such a position,” asserted a third. “Can it be that he is afraid to face Morgan’s men?”
“No!” exclaimed Inza Burrage at once. “Anybody here knows better than that. When was Frank Merriwell ever afraid of anything? Dick Merriwell is his brother, and he will win this game.”
On the edge of the gathered Yale men a man arose and said:
“If there are any betting men present, I’ll chance a few dollars that the boy does not remain in the box four innings.”
“Bow-wow-wow!” barked a huge St. Bernard dog at the side of the speaker.
“Correct, Nero!” cried the man approvingly. “You agree with me, I see. That settles it. The boy will be batted out within four innings. I’ll bet five, ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred on it.”
“Why doesn’t somebody take him?” breathed Inza, her cheeks flushed. “Frank Merriwell knows what he is about, and he would not put his brother into the box to be batted out in four innings. If I were a man, I’d bet just as much as that gentleman wants to wager!”
Those words seemed to arouse some of the Yale crowd, and there was a low buzzing of voices.