By this time an outdrop was the thing to fool him, and it worked nicely.
"Three strikes and out!" called the umpire.
Frank had struck out two men, and the Yale crowd could not cheer loud enough to express their delight.
Old Put was delighted beyond measure, but he was keeping pretty still, for he knew what he was sure to hear if Yale did not pull the game out some way.

He knew everybody would be asking him why he did not put Merriwell in the box before.
Lewis Little was hugging himself with satisfaction, while Dismal Jones' long face actually wore something suggestive of a smile.
Rattleton felt like standing on his head and kicking up his heels with the delight he could not express.
"Oh, perhaps they will give Frank a show after this!" he thought.
"Didn't I tell Put, the blooming idiot?
It took him a long time to get out of his trance." Sport Harris coolly puffed away at a black cigar, seemingly perfectly unconcerned, like a born gambler.

He had black hair and a faint line of a mustache.

He was rather handsome in a way, but he had a pronounced taste for loud neckties.
The next batter to come up was nervous, as could be seen at a glance.

He did not wish to strike out, but he was far too eager to hit the ball, and he went after a bad one at the very start, which led him to get a mild call down from the bench.
Then the fellow let a good one pass, which rattled him worse than ever.
The next looked good and he swung at it.
He hit it, and it went up into the air, dropping into Merriwell's hands, who did not have to step out of his tracks to get it.
Yale had whitewashed Harvard for the first time in that game..