“Vrankie, you vos a pird!” said Hans Dunnerwurst, as he waddled in to the bench. “I nefer expectorated you couldt pitch a pall by your lame ankle much; but you dooded der trick mit a greadt deal of satisfactoriness. Yah!”

“I didn’t do it, Hans,” confessed Merry. “It was a case of good luck.”

“Don’d let me toldt you dot!” exploded the Dutchman. “You don’d pelief me!”

Frank had limped to the bench.

“How is the ankle?” anxiously asked Morgan.

“Oh, I think I’ll get through another inning with it.”

“I’m sorry I was not able to stay in; but you see how much better you did.”

“Which was luck, just as I told Hans.”

“I can’t see it that way. You made Cross roll that weak one to you.”

“Perhaps it looked that way,” said Merriwell; “but I want to whisper in your ear that I thought all the time that he was likely to lift out a two-bagger or something of the sort.”

“You’re too modest, Merry.”

“It’s not modesty, Dade; I’m simply telling you the truth. Let the rest of the boys think what they please.”

“Let them get some runs this inning and we’ll carry off this game,” said Dade. “I feel it in my bones. All we need is one run. That will do the trick.”

Browning was the first man up. The big fellow did not try for a long hit. He made an effort to drop the ball over the infield; but Rush covered ground swiftly and made a handsome catch.

“Too bad, Bruce,” said Frank, as Browning returned to the bench. “With a poorer shortstop out there, you would have had a safe one.”

“It’s rotten!” growled the big fellow, in disgust. “We want this game! We can’t lose it! We’ve got to have it! These fellows are too conceited. They call us kids! If we’re kids, I wonder where they can find their men!”

“This game vill vin us,” asserted Dunnerwurst. “Id can’t lose us.”

“Oh, go on!” blurted Bruce. “You’ll find it’s easy enough to lose this game. You think we can defeat anything, just because we’ve had good success thus far. I suppose you have an idea in your head that there are no teams in the country that can down us?”

“Oh, I don’d know apout dot!” admitted Hans. “Some uf der big league teams mighdt us down; but der Chicagos dit not dood id in California.”

Rattleton was the next man to face Wolfers. The local pitcher grinned a bit, for Harry had not even touched the ball during the game.

Wolfers regarded Rattles with supreme contempt, which led him into carelessness, and the first thing he knew Harry cracked out a daisy cutter and capered down to the initial sack.

“Dot peen der kindt!” yelled Hans, seizing a bat. “Now we vin der game alretty! Der pall vill knock me vor a dree-pagger righdt avay soon. Holdt yourseluf readiness indo to come home, Harry.”

“Oh, go ahead!” snapped Wolfers. “Stand up to the plate and let me strike you out. You talk too much with your face.”

“You couldn’d struck me oudt a year indo!” retorted Hans. “Shust vatch und see me put der fence ofer der pall. I vill dood id! Yah!”

He swiped wildly at the first ball and missed by at least a foot.

Wolfers chuckled.

“Oh, yes, you’ll put it over the fence!” he sneered. “It’s easy for you to do that.”

“Sure id vos easiness vor dot to do me,” said Hans. “Nexdt dime I vill hit id vere you missed id dot dime.”

The Elkton twirler kept Rattleton close to first.

Harry dared not try to steal unless he could secure a good lead, for Sprowl was a beautiful thrower to second.

After wasting one, Wolfers used the spit ball. It came from his hand with great speed and “broke” handsomely at exactly the proper point, taking a sharp jump.

Dunnerwurst tried to hit it.

Again he missed by at least a foot.

“Why don’t you drive it over the fence?” laughed the Wonder from Wisconsin.

“Sdop vetting der pall all ofer und I vill dood id,” asserted Hans. “Uf der ball hit me, id vos such a slipperiness dot id vould der bat pop off a foul for. Yah!”

“Oh, I can toss you one and you can’t hit it.”

“I vish I thought id!”

“Well, here goes.”

Wolfers actually tossed the Dutchman one.

Hans basted it full and fair on the trade-mark!

“Yow!” he whooped, as he dropped his bat and started for first.

But he stopped short, for the ball had landed in the hands of Tinker, where it stuck.

Tinker snapped it to first to catch Rattleton.

Had the throw been accurate Harry would have been caught, but Cross was compelled to jump for it. He muffed it, giving Rattleton time to get back to the bag.

“Wouldn’t dot jar you!” half sobbed Hans, as he turned toward the bench. “I had dot pall labeled dree pags vor.”

“Oh, give up! give up!” laughed Wolfers. “You’re beaten.”

“It is my hour of glory,” said Ready, as he picked out a slugger and sauntered toward the plate.

“You’ll be a snap,” said the Elkton pitcher.

“Don’d you pelief him!” cried Hans. “Der pall can hit you easy. You vill a three-pagger get.”

“A safe hit wins this game,” declared Jack. “Merry follows me, and he will promulgate the ball out of the lot.”

“You’ll get no safe hit off me,” asserted Wolfers.

He was mistaken. Ready did not try to “kill” the ball. He took a short hold on his bat and drove a clean hit out between first and second.

Rattleton stretched his legs and raced to third, while Ready took first.

Wolfers was disturbed.

“Here’s where de Merries win der game!” yelled a small boy. “Frank Merriwell is goin’ ter hit, an’ he always does de trick.”

Instantly a dozen of his companions turned on him.

“What’s der matter with you, Spud Bailey?” snarled a big chap, with red hair and plenty of freckles. “Wolfers will strike him out!”

“Bet you two hundred t’ousan’ dollars he don’t!” hotly retorted Spud. “Dey never strike dat boy out!”

“Bet your small change,” advised Freckles. “How do you know so much?”

“I’ve read about Frank Merriwell. Wot’s der matter with you! You’re a back number!”

“You’ll think you’re a back number arter you see wot Wolfers does ter him.”

“Will I?”

“Yes, yer will!”

“Naw, I won’t!”

“Yes, yer will!”

“Naw, I won’t!”

By this time they had their fists clenched and their noses close together, while they were glaring into each other’s eyes.

“Say,” said Freckles, “arter ther game I’ll give you all that’s comin’ ter ye!”

“You try it! I ain’t skeered of you!”

“Stop that an’ watch ther game,” said another boy, butting between them. “A hit will do ther trick fer them fellers now.”

“Wolfers won’t let him hit,” asserted Freckles.

“He can’t help it,” declared Spud. “Don’t you never read no papers? Don’t you know northing about Frank Merriwell? He’s the greatest baseball player in the country.”

“Guess ag’in,” advised Freckles.

Frank fouled the first ball pitched.

“Wot’d I tell yer?” shouted Freckles.

“He bit a piece outer it,” said Spud.

“He’ll have ter do better’n dat.”

“He will, all right, all right.”

Needless to say that Merry’s players were anxious. On third Rattleton crouched, ready to dash home on any sort of a hit. Ready played off first. He was tempted to go down before getting a signal from Frank. After that foul, Merry signaled. On the next ball pitched Jack scooted for second.

Sprowl made a fake motion as if he meant to throw to second, but snapped the ball to third.

Ready had slackened speed, intending to be caught between first and second if Sprowl threw to Tinker. Merry had signaled for Jack to work this trick in order to give Rattleton an opportunity to try to steal home.

The Elks declined to step into the trap.

Rattleton was compelled to plunge back to third.

“It’s all right now,” asserted Spud Bailey. “Frank Merriwell will drive in two runs, an’ he may make a homer.”

“You make me sick!” sneered Freckles. “I don’t berlieve he ever got a hit in his life.”

“You’ll see! You’ll see!”

Merry refused to bite at Wolfers’ “teasers,” but he missed one that was over the inside corner.

A moment later the third ball was called.

With two strikes and three balls declared, every one seemed to feel that the critical point of the game had been reached.

The next ball pitched might settle the contest.

Could Merriwell make a safe hit? That was the question.

“It wouldn’t surprise me to see him lift it over the fence,” muttered Bart Hodge.

Wolfers delivered the ball.

Frank struck!

And missed!

Plunk!—the ball landed in Sprowl’s mitt.

“You’re out!” yelled the umpire.

Frank had struck out!

His comrades on the bench seemed completely dazed.

Freckles gave Spud a jab in the stomach, whooping with delight:

“What’d I tell yer? Oh, you’re a knowin’ feller, you are! He done a lot, didn’t he!”

Spud made some kind of retort, but the roaring of the delighted crowd drowned his words.

Wolfers was the hero of the moment as he swaggered in toward the local bench.

Hans Dunnerwurst could not believe the evidence of his eyes.

“A misdake has made you,” he muttered, as he stared at the umpire. “Nefer in his life dit der pall strike him oudt.”

“Into the field, boys,” said Frank. “We must hold them down and get another inning. We still have a chance for this game.”

“How could you strike out, Merry!” muttered Bart Hodge. “How could you!”

Frank saw that his companions were badly broken up over what had happened.

His reputation as a safe hitter at critical moments was such that a failure seemed impossible.

“Brace up, fellows!” he sharply commanded. “The score is still tied.”

Morgan was angry.

“What’s the matter with you fellows?” he sharply demanded. “You think a man ought to hit all the time. Keep in the game, and Merry will pull it off the coals.”

The Elks were jubilant. They patted Wolfers on the back and complimented him on his cleverness.

“Get out!” he growled. “It was no trick at all. I can strike him out four times out of five. I know his weak spot.”

“I’ve been told he has no weak spot,” said Billy Cronin.

“That’s rot! He has a weak spot, all right enough. I wish all the others on his team were just as easy.”

“Well, you’ve made yourself solid in this town, anyhow,” said George Rush. “The crowd was frightened. A hit just then might have fixed us.”

“Well, you must jump in and get some runs now,” said the manager. “We may as well wind the game up. The crowd is satisfied, and the town will back this team after to-day.”

“If we ever get a chance at the other teams in this old league we’ll trim them for fair,” grinned Rush. “But I’m afraid we’ll frighten them so they’ll continue to hold us out.”

“They can’t do it,” declared Lawrence. “The Central League can’t run without us. A three-cornered league is rotten, and the other towns must have us. They’ll come to time pretty soon. If we can get games enough, we’ll lose no money while this thing is hanging fire. We’ll make something on the game to-day. It might have hurt us if we’d lost, as I agreed that the winners should take two-thirds of the net receipts. Merriwell made the terms. He’ll have to be satisfied with a third if we carry off the game.”

“We’ll carry it off,” said Sprowl, as he selected a bat. “This inning ought to be enough.”

“Aw, it’ll be enough,” nodded Wolfers. “Go ahead and get first, Chuck. I’ll drive you round. That feller can’t pitch any better than he can bat.”

Wolfers had a very poor opinion of Merriwell’s ability.

Sprowl hit the first ball pitched.

It skimmed along the ground about four feet inside the line to first base.

Browning sprang in front of it, but he did not touch it with his hands, and it went between his legs.

Sprowl turned toward second, but Dunnerwurst had secured the ball, and he dodged back to first.

“You’re a mark, Merriwell,” laughed Wolfers, as he walke............