“Not on your autograph;” answered the sailor. “He has not yet promulgated the double-shoot through the sunny atmosphere. Perchance I made a mistake in admitting to him that we intended to bat it with extreme vigor the moment he passed it out to us. But linger yet a while and I prophesy that he will hand it forth.” Marcey, the third baseman, now came up. He did not attempt to hit the first ball pitched, for it seemed too wide. It swept in over the outside corner, however, and the umpire, who had a good eye and knew his business, declared it a strike. Marcey flung down his bat, sprang onto the plate and glared at the umpire. “What’s that?” he snarled. “Rotten! rotten!” howled a man on the bleachers, who sat in such a position that he could not tell to save his life whether the ball came over the plate. “Put him out! Get a new umpire! Put him out! He’s roasting you! I’ve got some money on this game, and I want to see a square deal.” “Shut up!” “Sit down!” “Choke off!” “Keep still!” “Go die!” These and various other cries came from the crowd, the most of whom knew the umpire. The umpire ordered Marcey back into position. The batter grouchily picked up his bat and prepared to strike, muttering sullenly all the while. Frank proceeded to whistle over a high one that was declared a ball. Then he used a “dope,” at which Marcey struck too soon. “He’s no fool of a pitcher,” muttered the captain of the Outcasts. “I’m afraid he’s going to be a hard man to hit safely.” This opinion he did not express to the others. Marcey was finally fooled with Merry’s new curve, striking out. “Come on, Bimm!” urged Hurley. “Put us into the game. Don’t try to knock the cover off the ball. That pitcher is easy enough if you don’t swing your head off trying to hit.” Bimm was one of the best batters on the team, even though he was a change pitcher. He stepped out fully determined to show the crowd that it was not such a difficult thing to hit Merriwell safely. “I’d give something to get a two-bagger or better,” he thought. Still he did not try for a long hit. Instead of that, he shortened his hold on his bat and swung to meet the ball squarely, if he could. He fouled the first one. “Feeling of him, Bimm, my boy!” cried Wiley. “You’ll find him soft and easy. Swat her to the so’west corner of the inclosure and steer your course around the diamond.” Bimm did his best, but, like the two before him, he fell a victim of Merriwell’s skill and struck out. Hurley looked round for McGann as he started for the field. He was beginning to think that Merriwell would prove a hard nut to crack. On the bleachers Wallace Grafter was smiling with satisfaction and his father was feeling decidedly better. “What do you think about it now, dad?” asked the young man. “Can he keep that up, son?” asked the politician.