“Oh, my goodness!” she cried. “Did you see that, girls? That’s all the way he can get a point now! He’s afraid to try a drive! Is this the mighty Frank Merriwell, of whom we have heard so much? Oh, my! oh, my!” Frank joined in the burst of laughter. “Miss Creighton has me guessing,” he confessed. “I acknowledge I fell back on what seemed my last and only resort.” “It’s too bad to laugh like that, Fan,” protested Lucy Lake. “Just see what a gentleman he is, and how honest he is in owning up that Mabel is giving him a close game.” “Too bad!” mocked Fanny. “Oh, I don’t know! He’s altogether too honest! Nothing seems to ruffle or disturb him. I don’t like a fellow who is so cool. I’d give anything if I could get Frank Merriwell real good and mad.” “Why do you wish to do that?” “Oh, just for fun! I’d like to prove that he can lose his temper occasionally.” On the very next play Frank succeeded in winning another point by placing the ball skillfully, which made the score stand thirty-fifteen, in his favor. Hodge brightened up. “Oh, Merry has been fooling all along,” he declared. “You’ll see how easy he will pull off the set, Miss Darling. He hasn’t cared to hurt Miss Creighton’s feelings by showing her up.” “Indeed!” scornfully returned the saucy little witch with the freckled face. “Don’t count your chickens so soon. Mr. Merriwell won’t melt things.” Mabel Creighton looked doubly determined as she again prepared to serve. Her eyes measured the distance to the net carefully, and though she made a fault by placing her first ball against the top of the net, she sent the next over with a speedy drive. In a moment Merry was on it, and he made a handsome return, which, however, did not deceive the girl in the least. Mabel volleyed, and Frank was forced to resort to the same play. For some moments the game was highly exciting, and the spectators gasped for breath. Then the girl smashed one down within three inches of the outside line, and Frank’s return was outside, so the score was evened. “Oh, I knew it!” chattered Fanny Darling. “I’ll bet a pound of Huyler’s that Mr. Frank Merriwell does not make another count.” “Done!” cried Hodge. “Oh, say, isn’t this easy, girls?” laughed Fanny. “It’s a perfect snap!” “For us,” smiled Bessie Blossom. “We’ll have some of that candy who ever wins.” The next point was scored by Mabel, and Diamond called: “You must quit fooling, Merry, old man. It’s forty-thirty, and she wins if you do not tie her this time.” “I shall do my best,” declared Frank. He did do his best, and it seemed that he would tire the girl out, but he was not successful, and a final daring drive from Mabel’s racket was successful. She had won the game and the set. “Well, Merriwell, I must say you are a good thing!” called a laughing voice. “I didn’t suppose you would let a little girl like that get the best of you at anything.”