Packard ran in from the coach-line, and stepped out with his special bat.
“Put it over good,” he invited. “I’ll hit it a mile.”
“All right,” said the boy coolly. “Here you have it.”
He threw the ball with a good rise on it, and Packard hit it.
Up into the air the ball sailed. Dick stood in his tracks.
“Take it, Dick!” cried Merry, as he ran in to back the boy up.
Down came the ball, and it was gracefully captured and held by the boy pitcher, which retired the side.
“What’s the matter with Frank Merriwell’s brother?” shouted one of the Yale men.
“He’s all right!” roared all the others.
Then, as the cheering subsided, up from the bench rose Old Joe Crowfoot, and from his lips pealed a yell that was shrill and clear and piercing. It was his tribute to the skill and prowess of his beloved protégé.