Hodge made a motion to line the ball down to second, and, as Stubbs was not playing in for a short throw and a return to the plate, the man on third started toward home. Hodge did not throw to second. With a snap he wheeled toward third, and sent the ball whistling at Walling, who was hugging the bag. The runner saw the trick, stopped short, and tried to get back to the bag. Over his shoulder sped the ball, and he saw he was caught between the bases. He tried to dodge back and forth along the line, but Walling ran him down and pinned him. Two men were out. Thus far Yale had kept Princeton from scoring on the second inning, but it had not been by work in the box. Now the men in yellow and black fell on Haggerty fiercely. They hammered him to right, to left, and to center. With two men out, they ran in three more scores in a hurry. Before the third score was made, Frank Merriwell was out of his sweater and warming up. When the third man crossed the plate, he walked into the diamond, and Haggerty, sick at heart, came out of the box. Frank was greeted with a cheer. The Yale men cheered him, and Princeton men clapped their hands, for he was well known and admired for his prowess. His face was quite calm as he went into the box. Pink Pooler sneered: “Here is where Mr. Merriwell takes his medicine. Oh, Princeton has won the game now! Yale can’t get six scores off a fellow like Finch.” Nobody said a word. All seemed to feel that Pooler was right. Merry remembered how Billy Mains had paralyzed the Baltimore batter by sending in a double-shoot for the first ball, and he resolved to try it on the Princeton man. Bart signaled for a drop, but Frank gave him a signal that told his decision to use the double-shoot at the very start. Having taken plenty of time, Merriwell sent in a “smoker.” The ball made a sharp outcurve, and then curved inward so quickly that it passed fairly over the outside corner of the plate, although it had looked like a wild one. “One strike!” cried the umpire. The batter dropped his stick and stared at Merriwell, while cries of astonishment came from the grand stand. The face of Bart Hodge was calm and cold as ice, while his nerves were steady as a clock, although they had been badly shaken till Frank entered the box. “Have I got ’em?” muttered the batter, as he rubbed his eyes and picked up his bat. “What’s the matter?” sharply asked the captain of the team. “Why did you drop it?” “You should have seen that ball!” returned the man at the plate. “It had more curves than a corkscrew! I’ll bet he can’t do it again.” Not a word did Frank say, but again he assumed a position that told Hodge he would pitch a double-shoot. This time he started it with an in, and it changed to an out, just as the batter leaped back to get out of the way. Over the outside corner of the plate passed the ball. “Two strikes!” cried the umpire. The batter was dazed.