, as Deacon Dunning passed over the
money he had been holding. "This is like chicking perries--I mean
picking cherries. All I have to do is to reach out and take what I
want."

"If the boys will capture the game I'll be perfectly satisfied to lose,"
declared Harris, who did not tell the truth, however, for he was
chagrined, although he showed not a sign of it.

"How can we lose? how can we lose?" chuckled Harry. "Things are coming
our way, as the country editor said when he was rotten-egged by the
mob."

It really seemed that Yale was out for the game at last, for they kept
up their work at the bat, although Peck replaced Coulter in the box for
Harvard.

Merriwell had his turn with the first batter up. One man was out, and
there was a man on second. Coulter had warned Peck against giving
Merriwell an outcurve. At the same time, knowing Frank had batted to
right field before, the fielders played over toward right.

"So you are on to that, are you?" thought Frank. "Well, it comes full
easier for me to crack 'em into left field if I am given an inshoot."

Two strikes were called on him before he found anything that suited him.
Harris was on the point of betting Rattleton odds that Merriwell did not
get a hit, when Frank found what he was looking for and sent it sailing
into left. It was not a rainbow, so it did not give the fielder time to
get under it, although he made a sharp run for it.

Then it was that Merriwell seemed to fly around the bases, while the man
ahead of him came in and scored. At first the hit had looked like a
two-bagger, but there seemed to be a chance of making three out of it as
Frank reached second, and the coachers sent him along. He reached third
ahead of the ball, and then the Yale crowd on the bleachers did their
duty.

"How do you Harvard chaps like Merriwell's style?" yelled a Yale
enthusiast as the cheering subsided.

Then there was more cheering, and the freshmen of 'Umpty-eight were
entirely happy.

The man who followed Frank promptly flied out to first, which quenched
the enthusiasm of the Yale gang somewhat and gave Harvard's admirers an
opportunity to make a noise.

Frank longed to get in his score, which would leave Harvard with a lead
of but one. He felt that he must get home some way.

Danny Griswold came to the bat.

"Get me home some way, Danny," urged Frank.

The little shortstop said not a word, but there was determination in his
eyes. He grasped his stick firmly