Phil saw, with no little surprise, that Frank seemed to mean it. “All right,” he said; “but we are not going to play six innings if this gets to be too much of a farce.” “You may stop any time you like after the third inning,” smiled Frank. “I know you are going to pitch against us,” said Phil; “but I don’t suppose you fancy you can play the whole game?” “Not at all. You will find there are others.” “Why don’t you take somebody in the place of Browning? He will drop dead getting after a ball.” “Don’t worry about Browning. He’s all right.” “I know he was a good man once, but he has had his day.” Frank smiled confidently. There was a little preliminary practice, as if it was to be a regular match game. Frank got off his sweater and warmed up in earnest, just the same as he would have done had he been preparing to pitch against Harvard. The “scrub” took the field first. As they went out scores of students shouted at them sportively, and they were the butt of ridicule. “Where did you find ’em, Merriwell?” shouted a voice. “They are a lot of flubs!” Frank laughed easily. “Wait a little,” he advised, “and these flubs will give you apoplexy.” He looked his men over to see that they were in proper positions, and then, as Cal Jeffers, Yale’s heavy-hitting center fielder, came up to the plate, he motioned for Gamp to move a little farther back. This caused some laughter, and a voice cried: “What do you want to put him back for, Merriwell? He couldn’t catch anything, anyway.” “Oh, he might--by accident,” returned Frank, who seemed ready to talk to anybody. “I have known more surprising things than that to happen.” Stubbs nudged Sydney Gooch. “He knows he’s going to be hammered,” said Stubbs. “See him get the fielders back.” “I hope they will hit every one he throws!” said Gooch, maliciously, as he fingered his throat, thinking how Merriwell’s fingers had felt there once on a time. Browning had slouched down to first as if going to his own funeral. There was a sad and hopeless look on his face, that made him look even more dismal than Jones. Frank turned to look at him, and then burst out laughing heartily. “Come, come, Bruce!” he cried. “It isn’t quite as bad as that. Wake up, now, for I am going to get into gear and shoot ’em over.” Browning said nothing, but his face did not grow a whit less dejected. Jeffers poised his bat, and Merriwell faced him. Then the first ball was sent spinning toward the backstop. Jeffers knew it was a fine thing to hit the first ball pitched, if possible, as it made a good showing for the batter. He went at this one. He hit it! Crack! Away the ball sailed, away over the head of the shortstop, away toward left field. “I knew he would do it!” cried Bink Stubbs, in delight. “It is a homer! Oh, that will nearly break Merriwell’s heart!” Down toward first Jeffers scooted.