Merry knew the fellow was not nearly as foolish as he appeared. So Frank worked carefully with the batter, using a change of pace, but making no further effort to throw the double shoot. Finally Tinker put up a foul. Hodge went after it, although the spectators yelled derisively, thinking he could not touch it. In some manner the catcher stretched himself amazingly and got the ball on the end of his big mitt as it was falling to the ground. It bounded off. On the dead run, Bart caught it a second time. And held it. After a moment of silence, the spectators applauded. The people of Elkton were generous enough to recognize a good play, whether made by one of their own team or by an opponent. “Hard luck, Tink!” cried Rush. “That catcher ought to be decorated with horseshoes.” “Clever, Bart,” smiled Merry approvingly. “Only one more man this inning, Frank,” said Bart. Could Merriwell “get” the next batter? The situation was one to work up the spectators, who felt that it would be shameful to have their new team, on which they had spent so much money, defeated by the visitors. “A pall nefer couldt catch dot Part Hodge!” shouted Hans Dunnerwurst joyously. Sitting on the bench, Wolfers growled a little to the manager of the team. “What’s the matter?” he said. “Why don’t they hit some? I can’t win the game if they don’t hit. I’ll hold those kids down all right, but the rest of the team must bat a little.” “A hit right now will win the game,” asserted Lawrence. “But Tink was the man to make the hit. If he had lifted a long one to the field it would have been something. Cronin could have scored on it, even if it had been caught.” “Cross will have to turn the trick.” “He ought to,” nodded Wolfers. “That pitcher is pie. He’s pie, I say. Don’t see how he ever got such a reputation.” “He has a lame ankle to-day.” “Don’t you think it! That’s a bluff. He was afraid to pitch against us, and so he put up that squeal about a lame ankle.” “But the rest of his players say his ankle is lame.” “He gets round on it all right, don’t he?” “He limps.” “Well, a lame ankle isn’t much beside a lame wing. Hey, there, Lem, what are you doing?” Cross had reached for a wide one. He shook his head and settled his feet into position. “He’s trying for the fence,” said Wolfers. “Better stop him.” Instantly Lawrence rapped on the bench in a manner that caused Cross to give him a look. The manager signaled for the batter to attempt to single. “Oh, it’s easy!” growled Cross. Lawrence persisted. A moment later the batter hit a ball that struck the ground and rolled slowly toward Frank. Merry sprang forward, but as he sought to pick the ball up his weak ankle seemed to melt beneath him, and he went down onto one knee. He secured the ball, however, and snapped it instantly to Hodge, who was standing on the plate. Bart promptly whistled the ball to Browning, although it was not necessary, Cronin having been forced.