“But it’s regular enough so that a stranger should have fair play,” came in something like a growl from Grafter. “You know what is generally thought of men who try to rattle opponents.” “Merriwell has the reputation of never getting rattled,” said Frost, with another icy smile. Frank seemed giving their chatter no heed. With the same air of deliberation he smashed into the pins and cleaned the alley. Frank had a total of ninety-nine in his fourth box, which left him still twenty-one pins to the bad. “Well, here goes another strike,” said Manton, as he selected his ball. CHAPTER III. SHIFTING WINDS. Manton seemed just as confident as ever, but apprehension was beginning to grip him. In his heart he was troubled by a slight fear that he might fail. It is this feeling of doubt that defeats many a man in the game of life, as well as in other games. No person should ever attempt a task while troubled by the smallest shadow of a doubt. He should have such command of himself that his confidence in his ability to succeed cannot waver. Through years of training Frank Merriwell had brought himself to the point where he refused to doubt when in anything like his normal condition. At the very moment of delivering the ball Manton was assailed violently by the doubt he had been unable to crush out of his heart. That doubt sent an electric shock along his arm to his hand, which quivered as he released the ball. Instantly he realized he was not going to strike the pins properly. Still he prayed for a fortunate result, knowing by experience that pins often fell well when hit poorly. In vain. The ball cut through them, taking down only seven, leaving two on one corner and one on the other. “At last!” thought Hodge exultingly; but not a sound came from his lips, and only the gleam in his dark eyes could have betrayed what was passing in his heart. “Well, now that was rotten, hard luck!” cried Manton, in disgust. “The ball slipped.” “You’ve kept your promise, Manton,” said Grafter. “What promise?” “You said that when you missed you would tell us how it happened.” Manton shot him a look of anger. The pin boy had sent Manton’s ball back. He took it from the return and stood inspecting the pins. “There’s a possible spare in it,” said Frost. Manton turned to inspect the score sheet. “A spare will save me,” mentally decided the Eagle Heights man. “If I can get those three pins with this ball, I’ll never let him catch me.” He rolled with precision and determination. The ball went down the alley in beautiful style. It was his hope to send one of the two pins flying across to sweep down the single pin on the opposite corner, and he believed he was going to do it. Fate was against him, however. The ball took the two pins, and the head one shot across the alley, but it missed the single pin. Manton clenched his fist and made a gesture of dismay, breathing an angry exclamation.