“Come off!” he cried. “The world is full of them. In order to get on at anything, a fellow must seize his opportunities. At the time that I got on to the nine there was a great cry for a change pitcher. I laid out to fill the bill, and I managed to fill it. That’s all. Now there’s a cry for a catcher, as well as for pitchers. It will be somebody’s opportunity.” Hodge was silent, but there was an eager look on his face. “I have pitched to you, Bart,” Frank went on, “and I know what you are. We work well together. You are a dandy thrower, a good batter, and a bird on the bases. Take my advice, get into gear and make a try for the nine.” “I don’t know how to do it.” “There’ll be plenty of fellows to coach you,” said Diamond, quickly. “I am going in for a shot at third bag. I may get there, although several good men are looking in the same direction. If I fail, it won’t kill me. I know I am not the only cake of ice. There are others just as cool. Make a bluff at it, Hodge. It won’t hurt you to get left.” “Perhaps not,” said Bart; but he felt in his heart that he would be cut keenly if he made a desperate try to get on the nine and some other fellow was chosen. Browning sneezed and awoke. “You’re catching cold, old man,” said Frank. “No danger,” said Rattleton. “He’s too lazy to catch anything.” “That’s got a long gray beard on it,” grunted Bruce, with an air of disgust. The wind, chill and raw, began to blow. Black clouds were piling up in the west, and the sun was shut out. This came so suddenly that the boys were startled. “Jove!” cried Hodge. “There’s a storm coming!” “Remember what the old fellow on the tug said when we came out?” exclaimed Diamond. “He warned us.” “That’s so!” Frank was on his feet taking a survey of the sea and sky. “If we want to get back to New Haven to-night we’d better get a hustle on,” he declared. Then there was a hasty gathering of such things as they wished to carry back and a hurrying down to the _Jolly Sport_. They clambered on board, stowed things away, cast off from the pier, ran up the sails, and made the first tack out to sea. The sky became dark and overcast. Down near New York somewhere great rollers started and seemed to gather force and size as they surged along the sound. The spray began to fly as the catboat plunged from roller to roller, and the boys saw a prospect of getting “good and wet.” Frank was at the helm, and his face wore a serious look. He realized that they were in for a bad run, to say the very least. And the wind was dead ahead! Harry showed nervousness. He owned the boat, but it was not that he was thinking about. He remembered the story of the Yale crowd lost on the sound some years before. “Mink we’ll thake it--I mean think we’ll make it all right, Frank?” he asked, with evident agitation. “We must,” was all Merriwell answered. The wind grew stiffer and stiffer. The _Jolly Sport_ floundered considerably, and the spray flew thicker and thicker.