hen he became nervous. To add to
his nervousness, Merriwell obtained a lead from first and stole second
on his delivery, getting it easily.

But that was not the end of Gordon's woes, for Merriwell seemed in a
reckless mood, and he made for third on the next pitch, getting it on a
beautiful slide, although the catcher made an attempt to throw him out.

The catcher came down scowling, and Gordon went to meet him, asking as
he did so:

"What's the matter with you? You ought to have stopped him at second and
held him there."

"I ought to have stopped him!" came derisively from the disgusted
backstop. "I came down to ask you if this was the way you were going to
pitch in a regular game. Why, that fellow is getting a long start on
your delivery, and he does it every time. You've got to stop that kind
of business."

For some moments they talked, and then Gordon sulkily walked back to the
box. He tried to catch Frank playing off third, but simply wasted time.
Then he made a snap delivery and hit the batter, who went down to first.

By this time Gordon was rattled, and he sent the next ball over the
heart of the plate. The batter nailed it for two bags, and two men came
home.

Gordon walked out of the box and up to the bench where Old Put was
sitting.

"I am sick," he declared.

He looked as if he spoke the truth.

"I thought something was the matter with you," said the manager. "You're
white as a sheet. It's folly for you to practice while you are in this
condition."

Gordon put on his sweater and then drew his coat over that. He wandered
off by himself and sat down.

"Hang that fellow Merriwell!" he whispered to himself. "I never thought
he would bother me so much. I am beginning to hate him. He is too cool
and easy to suit me."

The practice was continued, and Merriwell showed up finely, so that Old
Put was pleased.

The sophomores quit trying to have sport with the freshmen, as it
happened that two of the professors had wandered into the park and were
looking on from a distance.

Browning saw them.

"Why are they out here?" he snapped. "Never knew 'em to come before. I
won't even get a chance to talk to Merriwell."

"Better keep away from him this afternoon," cautioned Hartwick. "He
can't escape you, and there is plenty of time."

"That's so," agreed Bruce. "But I hate to think how he is crowing to
himself over the way the freshies got into the park. I'd like to take
the starch out of him at once."