“What do you think of that, Hazen?” laughed Jim Derring. “Merriwell thinks he’ll be able to win the game just because he has that kid to put on the team.”
“I think Merriwell is an idiot,” rumbled Hazen.
A flash of fire came into Dick Merriwell’s dark eyes, and he sprang toward the men.
“Who are you?” he cried. “What do you know about baseball?”
“I knew all about the game before you was born, kid,” said the treacherous umpire.
“Well, you don’t know enough to be a gentleman!” flashed Dick, in his fearless manner.
“What’s that? Why, you little runt, I’ll shake you outer them clothes!”
“Try it! I don’t know who you are, but——”
“Don’t talk to him, Dick,” said Frank, stepping up. “He is nobody but a common rascal who tried to sell the game to this other man yesterday. He was umpiring, and his dirty work made the crowd so angry that it came near mobbing him.”
“It was your dirty kicking that gave the crowd the impression that I was roasting,” snarled Derring. “The Stars will bury you to-morrow. You’ll not get a score.”