Sprowl turned toward second, but Dunnerwurst had secured the ball, and he dodged back to first. “You’re a mark, Merriwell,” laughed Wolfers, as he walked out to hit. “How did you ever get a reputation as a pitcher, anyhow?” Frank was a trifle “touched” by the fellow’s insolence, although he did not betray it. “Getting a reputation isn’t as difficult as keeping it sometimes, you know,” he said. “Well, don’t you care. You’re up against the real thing to-day. You might beat dub teams; but it’s different when you have to face the real hot stuff.” “If I’m able,” thought Merry, “I’m going to strike you out.” He knew this would not be a simple matter in case Wolfers tried to sacrifice for the purpose of advancing Sprowl; but the conceit and insolence of the fellow made him long to accomplish the feat. Frank summoned all his power of self-command. He had watched to learn the weak points of the man at bat, and now he commanded himself to be accurate and to do the things he wished. As a result, he fooled the hitter with the first two balls pitched, Wolfers going after both of them and missing. As Hodge snapped the ball back to him, Merry decided on the course he would pursue. He knew Wolfers would expect him to “waste” a ball in an attempt to fool him, this being the natural course when two strikes and no balls had been called. Instead of doing so, Frank summoned his speed and control and drove a straight one over the very heart of the plate. When it was too late, Wolfers realized what Merry had done. He made a weak and tardy swing at the ball, which he did not touch. “Str-r-r-rike—kah three!” cried the umpire. “You’re out!” Wolfers flung aside the bat and paused, his hands on his hips, staring at Merry. “You’re very clever!” he sneered. “Thank you,” said Merry. “No thanks needed. Only an amateur would put a straight one over under such circumstances. It’s always impossible to tell what a greenhorn will do.” Wolfers was sore. He did not like to acknowledge that he had been outwitted, although such was the case. “Go sit down, Bob,” laughed Kitson, as he walked out to strike. “You missed. Let it go at that.” Wolfers retired to the bench, feeling very sore. Frank knew Kitson was reckoned as a clever base getter, for which reason he had been placed at the head of the list. Merry felt that it would be best to force the man to hit, if possible, and this he tried to do. Now, however, all at once, he had lost control. The batter saw this and waited. As a result, he walked. “It’s all to the good!” yelled Rush, as he capered on the coaching line. “Get away off! Take a lead! Divorce yourselves from those sacks! Don’t force Chuck, Kit. Remember he’s ahead of you. How easy to win a game like this! It’s a cinch! Move off, you snails! Get a long lead! Let him throw the ball. He’ll throw it wild in a minute. He hasn’t any control. He’s off his feed to-day.” The spectators began to “root,” hoping to rattle Frank.