Bart had confidence in the lad, built of observation. At first he had fancied it folly when Frank wished to pitch Dick in an important game, but the work of the clever youngster had gradually won Hodge. Still, Bart considered Frank far superior to any pitcher, and it was Merry he wished to see in the box.
Dick took the ball and stood facing Mason, the next batter. These fellows were Frank’s college mates and friends, and something told Dick that they could bat against him with confidence.
“What’s the use to play ball?” flashed through the brain of the boy. “If I couldn’t play at all would Frank care so much about me?”
“Make him pitch, make him pitch!” cried Morgan.
“The batter is ready,” said the umpire.
Still Dick stood there like one dazed.
“One ball!” exclaimed the umpire, making the decision as a penalty for the delay.
“All right, Dick—all right,” said the calm voice of Frank. “Don’t mind anything. Drop one over the rubber.”
The word “drop” was a signal, giving Dick the cue that Mason could not hit a drop ball very well. The boy started, looked at Hodge, nodded, and swung his arm.