Silence fell on the crowd--broken by a gasp. Nippen passed second, rounded third, and held on home. The ball not only cleared the fence, but--dropped into the river! The huge outfielder had knocked a homer! When the fans understood what had happened, they went wild. Amid the confusion, Clancy came to bat and rapped out a single. The field became a bedlam. Shrieks and wild yells rose on every side, and the thump of feet rose into a dull thunder. When Merry came out to bat, the entire crowd went crazy all over again. As for the Clippers, they were thunderstruck. Carson tried to gain time, but the umpire commanded him to play ball, and he threw a vicious one straight at Frank’s head. Merry calmly stepped back and bunted it toward first. Carson leaped for it and fumbled. Clancy sprinted down to second, and, before the big fellow could decide where the ball ought to go, Merry was safe on first and Clancy was taking third. “Wake up, you bonehead!” growled Squint, as he walked out and met his captain. “Say, you’re the limit!” “He’s l-l-limited, al-l-l right!” chirruped Chub, from behind third. “The bal-l-loon’s gone up, fel-l-lows! Tag al-l-long!” Carson scowled as Billy Mac faced him. Frank seized his chance and went down to second. Again the crowd lost its head with delight, yelling and stamping in a frenzied manner. “Finish it up, you bonehead,” grated Squint. “Fan this man and we have ’em.” Billy laughed. A moment later the ball came down, and he cracked it squarely. It shot back at Carson like a bullet. The big fellow leaped aside amid a yell of derision, and, before Murray had fielded it, Clancy and Merriwell had crossed the plate. The Clippings had clipped the Clippers! Merry and Billy reached the shelter of the dressing room first, but the rest of the team was caught by the frenzied crowd. As the two entered, they found the black-bearded stranger waiting for them. He held out a paper to Billy. “Here,” he said, with a laugh, “is something for your mother, Billy. I think you won it pretty fairly, old man!” The stranger caught at his beard, and it came off in his hand. Chip took one glance, then leaped for him with a yell. “Father!” And Frank Merriwell, senior, smiled quietly as he took Chip’s hand. CHAPTER XIII. BEATEN AT HIS OWN GAME. “Now, boys, I owe you a word of explanation.” Frank Merriwell, senior, faced the victorious Clippings, who were lined up around Mrs. McQuade’s extended dinner table. “I want you to know why I did this. It wasn’t to gamble, as most of you know that I don’t countenance that so-called sport for a minute. It wasn’t to fight Colonel Carson with his own weapons. That’s another thing I don’t believe in. “But I do enjoy beating a man at his own game, when I can do it cleanly and make him learn a lesson. Now, in plain words, I knew that Colonel Carson was little short of being a crook. When he gambled, he wanted to gamble on a sure thing.” “That’s right,” went up a murmur.