The students from New Haven acted like maniacs. They howled like so many savages, they sung, they thumped each other, they laughed and shrieked. There was one who did not shout. It was Pooler. He looked very ill. “Too bad!” he grated. “Is it possible Merriwell and Hodge are going to be the cause of beating me again! Oh, Merriwell is poison to me! His man, Hodge, started the ball rolling, and he followed it up. Then those Princeton puppies acted like a lot of children! It’s awful!” He wiped the cold sweat from his face. “Here’s to good old Yale, drink it down!” sang the rooters. Finch dallied for time. He wanted to get out of the box, for something told him Yale would keep right on piling up scores while he remained in. The Princeton captain sent out a new pitcher, and Finch dropped the ball willingly. The new man pitched a very slow ball. It was a great change from the speed of Finch, and the batter popped up an easy fly to the infield, which retired Yale at last. But the rooters were jubilant, and the players were hopeful. “Now, fellows,” said Frank, as the men went out into the field, “we must be steady and hold them down. If we can do it, this game belongs to us.” But it did not take him long to discover that the men were too anxious. Walling let an easy hit go through him, and the batter reached first. Stubbs dropped a hot bounder, and two men were on bases. Wintz made a wild throw to third, and the bases were filled without Princeton having made a hit. The Princeton rooters were warming up. They were doing their best to rattle Merriwell. Frank did not believe in working for strike-outs, but he began to realize that the time had come when strike-outs counted. He trimmed the next batter’s whiskers with an in, he pulled him with an out, and he paralyzed him with a double-shoot. “Three strikes--batter out,” decided the umpire. “Got to do it twice more,” thought Merry, while Hodge nodded at him encouragingly. He did. With astonishing ease, apparently, he made the next two men fan, and Princeton had not scored. Yale held the lead. As Frank came in to the bench, Hodge met him and said: “It was beautiful work, Merry! It was grand! Keep it up. You must win this game in the box. The team can’t be trusted.” “I will do my best,” said Frank, quietly. He did. Although Yale was unable to make another score, Frank held Princeton down so she could not recover her lead, although she filled the bases in the ninth, and made a desperate bid for a score. For the last time in the game, Merry used the double-shoot, and the last Princeton man fanned gracefully. It was all over but the shouting. Yale had won, and the little crowd of loyal rooters were weak from their vocal efforts, but happy--so happy!