“The man behind the bat, of course,” laughed Wintz. “I know better!” cried Varney. “He couldn’t do it! He was down! It passed him. Some outsider threw it in. It is a blocked ball.” But the umpire motioned for him to come in, and it dawned on him after a time that in some marvelous manner the Yale catcher had thrown the ball to second. Hodge was cheered, and the wearers of the orange and black joined in the ovation he received. The little group of Yale men fairly split their throats howling their delight. Pooler was one of the party from Yale, but he did not cheer as fiercely as the others. He was disgusted, as well as astonished. Walt Forrest shouted in Pink’s ear: “That is a feather in Merriwell’s cap. Hodge has done good work all along, but that throw was phenomenal. He is bound to become one of the greatest college catchers ever known.” “Rot!” grunted Pooler. “He’ll make a fluke sometime that will take the wind out of his sails. He can’t keep it up always.” Pooler had not been able to get many bets, as he had wished to bet on Princeton, and everybody else seemed to want to bet the same way. However, he had obtained a few by giving big odds, and all he regretted was that he could not get more. When Browning saw Hodge throw Varney out at second he lay back with a deep sigh of satisfaction, and it must be confessed that Frank Merriwell breathed easier, for it had seemed that the runner was sure to make the bag safely. When the shouting was over, Walbert again faced the batter. It seemed that he had gained fresh confidence, for he got two strikes on Beverage right away. Then he tried to “coax” the batter, and soon the score stood three balls and two strikes. Then Walbert put one over, and Beverage sent it whistling through the Yale short as if nobody was there. It was a two-bagger, and the Tigers howled their delight. After that, a hit and an error filled the bases. Then Walbert went “up in a balloon,” for he could not find the plate, and he forced two runs. Haggerty had been warmed up before the game began, and now Frank lost no more time in taking Walbert out and putting the little Williams man in his place. “What’s that mean, anyway?” growled one of the Yale rooters. “Why doesn’t Merriwell go in? Is he too lazy?” “He doesn’t dare!” declared Pooler. “He knows Princeton is out for blood, and he doesn’t want to pitch a losing game.” “I don’t believe that!” cried Charlie Creighton. “I don’t believe Frank Merriwell is a coward.” “Well, you won’t see him pitch to-day, if he can help it.” Haggerty flung his cap on the ground by his side, held the ball up before him with both hands, suddenly jerked it toward him, humped his back in a queer manner, and sent it whistling over the plate. The batter lined it out. The first ball the little fellow pitched had been met squarely and sent flying toward left field.