Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Support; Or, A Triple Play онлайн

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Hodge met Frank as he came in.

“How is the wrist?” asked Bart anxiously.

“Bad,” confessed Merry; “but don’t you say a word about it.”

“What made you use the double?”

“Had to do something to get out of that hole.”

“But——”

“It’s all right. We’re going to win this game—if we can.”

“It will take some scores to do it, and the weak end comes up this time. We’ve got only one more chance after this.”

Swiftwing was the first batter. As a rule, the Indian hit well, but had not secured a safe one thus far in the game. The former Carlisle man now seized a bat and advanced to the plate, his manner betraying determination to do something. Frank spoke to him, saying:

“Don’t try to kill the ball, John. A single is good enough, if you can’t get a bag on balls. But wait—wait.”

Merry had found the Indian a poor waiter, and this case was no exception. John was so eager to get a hit that he fell an easy victim to the artifices of Batch, finally popping up a little fly, which was taken by the third-baseman of the Stars.