Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Support; Or, A Triple Play онлайн
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“Ugh!” grunted Crowfoot. “Him no do it. Him have heap many enemy. Him stay where him be.”
“We shall see,” said Merry. “I am glad you are here, Dick, for we have missed you on the nine.”
“Missed me?” said the boy, his eyes dancing. “Why, you do not really need me on the nine. You simply played me in order that I might get experience and practise.”
“Who told you so?”
“I don’t know. Anyhow, I thought so.”
“Well, we have played a game without you and lost it. The Stars, of this city, trimmed us yesterday.”
“Oh!” cried Dick, in amazement. “How could they do it?”
“They did it very handsomely.”
“I don’t believe it was square! I don’t believe they could beat you!”
“They did, Dick.”
“And you pitched?”
“With that.”
Frank held up his wrist, about which there was a bandage.
“If you had been here, Dick,” he said, “they could not have won the game.”
This was praise, indeed, and the heart of the boy glowed. It was fine to know that Frank had so much confidence in him.
“I am here now,” he said.
“And we play them again to-morrow.”