“Dot peen der kindt!” yelled Hans, seizing a bat. “Now we vin der game alretty! Der pall vill knock me vor a dree-pagger righdt avay soon. Holdt yourseluf readiness indo to come home, Harry.” “Oh, go ahead!” snapped Wolfers. “Stand up to the plate and let me strike you out. You talk too much with your face.” “You couldn’d struck me oudt a year indo!” retorted Hans. “Shust vatch und see me put der fence ofer der pall. I vill dood id! Yah!” He swiped wildly at the first ball and missed by at least a foot. Wolfers chuckled. “Oh, yes, you’ll put it over the fence!” he sneered. “It’s easy for you to do that.” “Sure id vos easiness vor dot to do me,” said Hans. “Nexdt dime I vill hit id vere you missed id dot dime.” The Elkton twirler kept Rattleton close to first. Harry dared not try to steal unless he could secure a good lead, for Sprowl was a beautiful thrower to second. After wasting one, Wolfers used the spit ball. It came from his hand with great speed and “broke” handsomely at exactly the proper point, taking a sharp jump. Dunnerwurst tried to hit it. Again he missed by at least a foot. “Why don’t you drive it over the fence?” laughed the Wonder from Wisconsin. “Sdop vetting der pall all ofer und I vill dood id,” asserted Hans. “Uf der ball hit me, id vos such a slipperiness dot id vould der bat pop off a foul for. Yah!” “Oh, I can toss you one and you can’t hit it.” “I vish I thought id!” “Well, here goes.” Wolfers actually tossed the Dutchman one. Hans basted it full and fair on the trade-mark! “Yow!” he whooped, as he dropped his bat and started for first. But he stopped short, for the ball had landed in the hands of Tinker, where it stuck. Tinker snapped it to first to catch Rattleton. Had the throw been accurate Harry would have been caught, but Cross was compelled to jump for it. He muffed it, giving Rattleton time to get back to the bag. “Wouldn’t dot jar you!” half sobbed Hans, as he turned toward the bench. “I had dot pall labeled dree pags vor.” “Oh, give up! give up!” laughed Wolfers. “You’re beaten.” “It is my hour of glory,” said Ready, as he picked out a slugger and sauntered toward the plate. “You’ll be a snap,” said the Elkton pitcher. “Don’d you pelief him!” cried Hans. “Der pall can hit you easy. You vill a three-pagger get.” “A safe hit wins this game,” declared Jack. “Merry follows me, and he will promulgate the ball out of the lot.” “You’ll get no safe hit off me,” asserted Wolfers. He was mistaken. Ready did not try to “kill” the ball. He took a short hold on his bat and drove a clean hit out between first and second. Rattleton stretched his legs and raced to third, while Ready took first. Wolfers was disturbed. “Here’s where de Merries win der game!” yelled a small boy. “Frank Merriwell is goin’ ter hit, an’ he always does de trick.” Instantly a dozen of his companions turned on him.