"What did he do then, Pierson ?" "Fooled the fellow on the same thing exactly!" chuckled Paul.

"Gibson wasn't looking for two in the same place." Now the freshmen spectators from Yale let themselves out.

They couldn't wait for the third strike, but they cheered, blew horns and whistles, and waved flags and hats.
Merriwell had a trick of taking up lots of time in a busy way without pitching the ball while the excitement was too high, and his appearance seemed to indicate that he was totally deaf to all the tumult.
"That's right, Merry, old boy!" yelled an enthusiastic New Haven lad.
"Trim his whiskers with them." "Wind them around his neck, Frank!" cried Harry Rattleton.

"You can do it!" Rattleton had the utmost confidence in his chum, and he had offered to bet that not one of the first three men up would get a safe hit off him.
Sport Harris, who was always looking for a chance to risk something, promptly took Harry up, and each placed a "sawbuck" in the hands of Deacon Dunning.
"I am sorry for you, Harris," laughed Rattleton after Gibson had missed the second time, "but he's going to use them all that way." "Wait, my boy," returned Sport, coolly.

"I am inclined to think this man will get a hit yet." "I'll go you ten to five he doesn't." "Done!" They had no time to put up the money, for Merriwell was at work again, and they were eager to watch him.
The very next ball was an outcurve, but it was beyond Gibson's reach and he calmly let it pass.