“That’s right,” nodded Bink Stubbs, laughing as if it was a joke; “that wasn’t an accident. Merry is easy. They’ll hammer him out of the box.” He said this openly, but Frank knew him well enough to understand that it was intended for a sneer. Bink Stubbs seldom joked. Frank paid not the least attention to the cries of his enemies, but caught the ball, which was flung in to him, and took his position in the box. CHAPTER XV. IN THE GAME. The regulars had been so dazed by Gamp’s marvelous catch that not a man had moved toward the plate, so the umpire was forced to call: “Batter up!” Hal Faunce was the next man on the list. He left the bench and picked out a bat. “I’m going to do the same trick Jeffers did, just to see if that farmer out there in left garden can repeat his trick,” declared Faunce. “Look out for me, Merriwell.” “That’s right,” cried a voice from the crowd of spectators; “line her out, Fauncie. Jeffers showed how easy Merriwell is to-day. Anybody can hit him.” Frank continued to smile, but, mentally, he exclaimed: “Think so, my fine fellow, if you like! I’ll have to see what I can do. I know Hal Faunce’s weakness, and I’m going to lay for him.” He sent in a “coaxer” to start with, but Faunce did not try to repeat Jeffers’ trick by lining out the first one pitched, and the umpire called a ball. The next one was high, and the umpire called another ball. “Merry doesn’t dare to let him hit it,” shouted somebody. Frank smiled, motioning for Hodge to come under the bat. Bart walked down and put on a mask. He had not smiled during all the excitement. His face was unmoved, and he made a strong contrast to Frank Merriwell, who looked as pleasant as if he were witnessing a free show. Taking his place close under the bat, Bart signaled for an out drop. Merry shook his head, immediately assuming a position which Hodge understood to mean that he would deliver a high inshoot. In order to make the others believe he was doing all the signaling, Bart made a fake signal, which did not mean anything at all. With his greatest speed Frank sent a ball whistling through the air. To Faunce it looked like a high straight one, and he could “feast on that kind.” He struck with all his strength, but the only resistance met by his bat was that of the air, and it was such a surprise that Faunce was thrown off his feet. Plunk!--the ball was held in Bart Hodge’s glove. “One strike,” called the umpire. “Here! here! here!” laughed Frank. “Don’t be trying to throw yourself at the ball, Fauncie. That won’t do. Hit it with the bat.” Faunce picked himself up, looking red and disgusted. “Oh, I’ll hit it next time!” he savagely declared. “I’ll knock the peeling off it!” “That’s right,” nodded Frank. “Knock the stitches out of it--if you can. I don’t believe you can.” Some one in the crowd groaned derisively.