Merry sent the balls into the midst of the pins. Crash! “All down!” exclaimed Fuller. “Thirty for Merriwell in the second box, with a total of thirty-nine.” “Which is a long distance to the bad,” observed Frost. Manton frowned the least bit. Merriwell was altogether too successful in following up with strikes. “Why don’t you quit it?” he cried, pretending to joke. “I’m waiting for you to quit,” retorted Frank. “You may have to wait a long time.” “I don’t think you’ll go all the way through the string with strikes.” “I may.” “Of course. Still it is not probable.” Manton followed with another strike. As he took his position to bowl, Frank discovered that the pins were spread slightly. He asked the boy about it, but the boy insisted that they were on the spots. Merry started to go down the alley to investigate, whereupon the boy hastened to alter the positions of the pins slightly. Immediately Fuller gave the boy a sharp calldown. “You know what you’re down there for,” he said. “Put every pin up perfectly.” Frank struck the pins in his favorite manner, and they went down promptly. “I don’t believe he means to quit,” laughed Fuller. “That gives him a total of sixty-nine in his third box.” “But Manton has ninety in the same box,” reminded Frost. “The string is half rolled, that’s all,” muttered Hodge. Still it looked serious for Frank, as Manton was not the sort of fellow to let slip an advantage that he had fairly within his grasp—at least, that was what his friends thought. No one could have guessed by the face of the gentleman pugilist that he was worried in the slightest degree. He pretended to enjoy it. In his heart, however, he was growling over the persistence of his opponent, which was quite unexpected. “Why don’t you give up, Merriwell?” he laughed. “I’m not quite ready to give up,” was the quiet answer. “I’ve heard that he never gives up, Manton,” said Fuller. “Some people never know when they are beaten,” chipped in Fisher. “That’s a good qualification,” said the president of the club. “But it makes them appear ridiculous at times, don’t you know.” This time the pin boy had every pin up correctly. Manton hesitated as he was starting, pretended that his shoes were slippery, and resorted to the chalk box. “He’s beginning to feel the strain,” thought Hodge, in keen satisfaction. “He’s getting shaky.” Fortifying his nerve, Manton rolled in his usual style. Crash! “All down again!” said Frost. “I think he’s going through the string with strikes.” “Total of one hundred and twenty in his fourth box,” announced the scorer. “That’s a three-hundred clip.” “Now we’ll watch Mr. Merriwell,” observed Manton, sitting down with a satisfied air. “Everybody watch,” urged Frost. “Lots of talking for a match,” reminded Fuller. “Oh, but this is not a regular match,” said Fisher.