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

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“Great support, fellows!” said Frank. “That’s what I want to-day. I don’t believe I can throw much of anything in the way of curves. If you continue to back me up like that, the game is ours.”

Ready had his arm over Dick Merriwell’s shoulders.

“He is the baseball wonder of the age!” Jack asserted, in his laughing way. “Up to date, I have regarded myself as it, but the laurels have been torn from my fair brow by a boy. I am green with jealousy.”

“You’re green, anyhow,” said Browning.

“There’s the man I bet with!” exclaimed Dick.

Hazen and Derring were sitting on the bleachers directly behind the visiting players’ bench.

“I hear he put up a large wad on the game,” said Jack. “I think he will lose his little roll to-day, all right, all right.”

As they approached the bench a singular figure rose from somewhere. It was Old Joe Crowfoot, wrapped in his dirty red blanket and smoking his black pipe.

“Ugh!” he exclaimed, his eyes fastened on Dick. “Injun Heart him catch bullet next! Heap good playing!”