Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Marriage; Or, Inza's Happiest Day онлайн

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“It is when a man seems determined to make strikes right along,” admitted Frank good-naturedly.

“I think I have my hand in your pocket, Grafter,” chuckled Manton.

“Perhaps so,” admitted the great shot putter of the Catskill Club. “But ‘there’s many a slip,’ you know. Don’t be too sure of anything in this world. It doesn’t pay. I’ve found that out by experience.”

“He’s setting a hard pace, Mr. Merriwell,” said Fisher, with affected politeness, yet plainly with the idea of rubbing Frank against the grain.

“He is,” confessed Frank; “but that makes it all the more interesting.”

“Your sand seems good.”

Fuller shook his head at Fisher, but the latter pretended he did not see it.

Frank did not hurry. When he did deliver the ball he sent it once more to the exact spot he wished.

Nine pins fell.

Hodge uttered an exclamation of bitter disappointment, followed by another of exultation; for the tenth pin, which had been tottering, finally fell.

“That’s great luck for you, Merriwell,” declared Manton. “You got that strike by the skin of your teeth.”