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

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The batting-orders of the teams were as follows:

Merries. Omaha Stars. Ready, 3d b. Teller, cf. Carson, rf. Skew, ss. Hodge, c. O’Grady, lf. Gamp, cf. Hanson, c. F. Merriwell, p., ss. Jack, 2d b. Browning, 1st b. Maloney, rf. Swiftwing, lf. Corrigan, 3d b. Rattleton, 2d b. Dorrity, 1st b. D. Merriwell, ss., p. Batch, p.

“Remember what we did to him last time, Bill, old boy,” cried Dorrity, as Teller stepped up to the plate. “Get against the first one he puts over.”

Teller grinned.

It was Frank’s practise to put the first ball over, and he did so. Teller did not wait. He cracked the ball hard, and drove it like a bullet straight at Dick Merriwell. It seemed too hot for the boy to handle, and many expected to see Dick try to dodge it. Instead of dodging, however, the lad took the ball, though it made him stagger, and held it.

“Batter out!” announced the umpire.

“Well! well! well!” roared that familiar hoarse voice. “Did you see that? How did he do it?”

“Simplest thing in the world, my good people,” said Jack Ready. “Wait till you see him eat grounders.”