Laughing with malignant satisfaction, Arlington disdainfully turned his back on the agitated man and walked away. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXII WINNING THE PENNANT. Owen Bold was the first batter to face the Maplewood pitcher in the last half of the ninth inning. After two balls had been called, Bold hit a savage liner in the direction of Connor, who was playing at short. Connor made a sidelong leap and caught the ball with his bare right hand. It was a startling play, but it caused many of the spectators to groan with dismay. “Robbery!” muttered Bold as he turned back toward the bench. “That was a clean hit in nine cases out of ten. He didn’t know he had it.” Billy Bradley followed Bold, and he felt his nerves quiver under the strain. “Great codfish, do hit it out!” implored Uncle Gid Sniffmore. “We’ve got ter have this game, boys.” Bradley responded by smashing a hot liner toward Dillard, who made a beautiful stop and snapped the ball to Hunston, on first. Bradley was out. There was another groan from the spectators. “It’s all over!” shouted Hunston. “We’ve taken a scalp, boys!” “Not yet!” grated Brad Buckhart, as he picked out his pet bat and strode toward the plate. “I opine I’ll try to put up some sort of an argument with you.” Bretton was confident now—in fact, he was too confident. Feeling sure he had the game in his hands, he gave the Texan a swift one over the outside corner. It was just where Brad wanted it, and he lashed out a beautiful single. An instant later there was a fearful uproar on the field, for Dick Merriwell was seen advancing toward the plate. The stonecutters thundered their applause, while bats, handkerchiefs, and flags waved everywhere. “Enough to rattle any batter,” muttered Benton Hammerswell. The pitcher waited until the shouting crowd became quieter. Then he put over a swift inshoot, which Dick missed. “One strike!” cried the umpire. “Get him, Bretton—get him!” cried Hunston. Bretton tried a wide out, and a ball was called. Then he whistled over another one, and again Dick missed it cleanly. Once more the crowd groaned. At this moment several persons who had reached the ground pushed through the crowd and appeared in view back of the ropes. Three of them were lusty-lunged chaps, for they gave a Yale cheer that surprised the crowd and caused almost every one to turn in their direction. In the greatest amazement, Bart Hodge started up from the Fairhaven bench, crying: “Frank Merriwell! Am I dreaming?” It was Frank, accompanied by Browning, Rattleton, Elsie, Inza, and the others from the yacht _Sachem_.