“Still, as long as Merriwell has anything to do with the Yale team, it will give you satisfaction to see Yale defeated. You can’t deny that,” said Forrest. “Oh, I’d rather see Yale win, for all of Merriwell, but I do not have so much sympathy with her when she loses if he plays.” “Say!” cried Forrest. “I want you to think of one little thing. Yale seldom loses at anything when Frank Merriwell is in the game. He seems to be Old Eli’s mascot.” “Of cawse, it’s all beastly luck,” put in Paulding. “He doesn’t really have any more to do with it than any other good man would.” “You may think as you like about that,” said Forrest, evasively; “but you must confess that he seems to bring Yale good luck. We thought she was a dead duck at football last fall, but he put new life and snap into the team, and Yale came out on top.” “He can’t do that with the ball team,” said Gordan. “There’s where he’ll meet his Waterloo.” “Let’s see, Gordan,” said Forrest, “I believe you and Merriwell were rivals for pitching honors the first year in college. He got on to the ’varsity nine, and you got left. Ha, ha! You haven’t admired him since.” Gordan flushed. “Oh, it wasn’t that,” he declared; “but he thinks he is so much. That’s what makes me sick.” “We all have our reasons for not loving him,” said Pooler. “It’s no use to talk about that. The worst thing I wish him now is that they make him captain of the ball team.” Rattleton and Hodge drifted from knot to knot of the students on the campus, finding all were talking baseball. The events of the last few hours had stirred up the “sports” wonderfully. Rattleton was excited and nervous. He was waiting for the reappearance of Frank Merriwell. On the other hand, Hodge seemed unusually cool and unconcerned. Bart smiled whenever he heard fears expressed as to the result of the struggle for the pennant, and he smiled more when some one declared Yale did not have a show. It was generally known that the directors meant to appoint Merriwell captain of the nine, but there were not a few who declared Frank was too wise to accept the position at that late hour and under such unfavorable circumstances. An hour passed. It was growing dark swiftly. Lamps were sending gleams of light from the windows of the quad. It was a mild spring night, and voices could be heard calling from the open windows. Over in South Middle a banjo was plunk-plunking. There were bursts of laughter now and then. Some fellow was whistling “Maggie Murphy’s Home.” Still the “sports” lingered on the campus, waiting for Hardy and Merriwell to appear. Rattleton was so nervous he could not hold himself still three seconds at a time. Hodge was not disturbed in the least. “Here they come!” Somebody uttered a cry. The former captain of the nine was seen approaching, with Frank Merriwell at his side. He was seen to grasp Frank by the arm and draw him toward the largest collection of students near the fence. Other students made a rush for that spot.