“Hello!” said Merry, with perfect good nature. “Your friends are groaning for you now, Hal. They know you have no show to get a hit. Take my advice and wait for two more balls. Perhaps I can’t get ’em over, and you will get a life on four.” “Oh, you go to--Chicago!” flung back Faunce, nettled. “I’m going to hit her next time, and you want to get off the earth if it comes your way.” “All right, let her go.” Bart was ready, and Merry sent another ball flying over the plate. It was another high inshoot, and Faunce swung again, missing it as cleanly as before, and nearly throwing himself down a second time. “Two strikes,” called the umpire. Frank laughed heartily, but Hodge was as mirthless and stern as before. “What is he doing with you, Faunce?” cried Danny Griswold, from the seats. “He seems to be making a monkey of you.” “I’d make a monkey of you if I had you by the neck, you little runt!” muttered the batter, under his breath. Frank saw that Faunce was so angry that he trembled, and he felt that it would be easy to strike the fellow out. He was right, for he sent in a third high inshoot, and the batter went after it just as hotly as he had gone after the others, missed it, and was out. “Sorry for you, old man,” said Frank, quietly. “Don’t believe I can work that on you again.” “I know you can’t!” snapped Faunce, as he walked to the bench. “Costigan, come up and take your medicine,” laughed the scorer. Joe Costigan, the left fielder, who had played third the season before, advanced to the plate. He was a stocky fellow, a reliable man, and a good hitter. It was said that he had no weak points at the bat. Merry gave him a high swift one, and Costigan let it pass for a ball. Then Frank made the same motion, but sent in a slop drop. Costigan tried to get under it, struck too quick, and missed it. “One and one,” called Capt. Hardy. “Merry is easy fruit for you, Joe.” “I am not so sure of that,” muttered Costigan. “I have seen him fool too many good men to think him easy.” Frank feared Costigan more than he had Faunce, although the latter was the more brilliant hitter. Costigan was not puffed up with too much confidence and he was as steady as a mill. “I’d give something to strike him out,” thought Merriwell. He tried to “tease” the batter, but Costigan would not bite, and two more balls were called. “Now you have him in a hole, old man,” cried Phil Hardy. “He’s forced to put it over.” Frank thought swiftly just then. Which had he better do, put it over or try a “fooler?” That was a question of some moment just then. He knew well enough that Costigan was the kind of fellow who would take four, instead of breaking his back for a hit, and laugh as he trotted down to first.