Frank Merriwell's Races Part 58

Without a word, Yates steadied himself by taking hold of the side of the door, and entered the car.

Merriwell followed, taking out his handkerchief and pressing it lightly to the spot on his cheek where a slight bruise marked the spot that had felt the enraged lad's fist.

The witnesses of this scene seemed to breathe freely for the first time.

They stared at Frank as if his marvelous display of strength had been a revelation to them.

Yates had plenty of friends, as he had never seemed a bad sort of fellow, but the fact that he had struck Merriwell while the latter was sitting down was against him.

"He's been drinking," one declared. "Merriwell could not have handled him that way otherwise."

"Did Merriwell really mean to throw him off?" asked another.

There were some murmurs of disapproval at Frank's action, but the expressions of astonishment and admiration for his display of strength drowned all other sounds.

Yates turned and looked at Frank, but he seemed unable to express his feelings by means of words.

Jack Diamond was flushed with rage.

"It would have served the fellow right if Merriwell had dropped him off!" declared the hot-blooded Southerner.

Andy Emery was near at hand, but he had been unable to give Yates any a.s.sistance when the latter was grasped by Frank.

"Good heavens!" he kept repeating, as he stared at Frank Merriwell in a manner that showed his unutterable amazement.

It was plain that such a display of strength had been a revelation to him, and from that time Emery was bound to regard Merriwell with renewed respect.

"Mr. Yates," said Frank, quietly, "this is no place to settle any quarrel that has arisen between us; but I wish to say before witnesses that I consider you entirely in the wrong, and certainly you owe me an apology. You may not think so now, but I believe you will think so in time."

That was all. He returned to his seat and sat down. Yates seemed to hesitate, and then turned away, accompanied by Emery.

Flemming had kept himself in the background during the entire affair.

When the train reached Springfield Yates was in no condition to go to the ball ground. He had taken too much whiskey to carry, and his pretended friends, Flemming and Emery, were forced to get him out of sight as soon as possible.

"That ought to be a settler for him," said Diamond. "A fellow who is in training for a race can't afford to get loaded."

Yale men had heavily backed their own club to win, and it seemed that the majority of the Harvard crew was trying to put money on the blue.

It was expected by Harvard that Merriwell would pitch the deciding game, for the actual condition of his hand had been kept a secret, and Harvard feared Merriwell.

To himself Frank confessed that he could pitch the game, as his hand was in fairly good condition, but such improvement had not been expected, and it had been arranged that he should do no "twirling."

Besides that, it was Heffiner's last game for Yale, and, taking into consideration the record he had made, it seemed no more than right that he should be placed in the box.

The usual crowd had gathered to witness the game, and there was the usual display of flags. Yale was over-confident; Harvard was hopeful, but filled with fears.

The game began, and for three innings Yale had the advantage. The "sons of Old Eli" were jubilant, and they made the air ring with their cheers and songs.

At the end of the third inning it was seen that Harvard must make a change if it had any hope of winning. Yedding, the great Cambridge pitcher, was "rocky." He could not find the plate, and he was "hammered"

when he did "get 'em over."

Some Yale man with an inclination to rhyme had composed some doggerel verse, which about twenty lads were singing to some sort of mongrel tune.

"Poor Harvard she can talk-- (That's all!) At other things she'll balk; We'll beat her in a walk-- Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

"Poor Harvard's lost her grip-- (That's so!) She's let the pennant slip, We've done her up this trip-- Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"

"It is altogether too early in the game to crow," declared Frank Merriwell. "Several things may happen before the ninth inning is over."

"Oh, we've got the game nailed solid now!" declared Bruce Browning, in a satisfied way. "Robinson will be able to get his shirts out of soak."

In the fourth inning Harvard sent a new pitcher into the box. It was Coulter, who, as a freshman, had pitched against Merriwell.

Coulter was nervous and rather wild at first, but he puzzled the Yale men, who could not hit him when he did get them over the plate.

"If he steadies down, he will prove to be a bad man," said Frank, soberly. "This is his first trial on the regular team, and he is not at his best just now."

Yale secured one score in the fourth inning, while Harvard retired with her third whitewash.

In the fifth there was a change. Coulter did steady down in a most astonishing manner, for he sent the Yale men to the bench in one-two-three order.

That seemed to give Harvard new life, and, when she came to bat, she showed a determination to do something.

Right there was where Heffiner took a streak of wildness, and Harvard scored three times.

Coulter kept up his work in the sixth, by allowing but one short single to be taken off his delivery, and no Yale man got further than second base.

Then it seemed that Harvard came to the plate with a determination to "pound it out." The defenders of the crimson jumped on Heffiner's curves, and the way they banged the leather gave the Yale crowd symptoms of heart failure. A single, a two-bagger and a homer in quick succession caused Heffiner to develop a bad case of "rattles," and it seemed that Harvard would never let up. There was consternation in the Yale ranks when Harvard tied the score with but one man out, and that consternation threatened to become a panic when two more scores came in.

Old Man Hicks was set at work "warming up," although it was felt that he must be a desperate resort. When Harvard scored again, Hicks was sent into the box.

The change seemed to work well, for Harvard's score getting was brought to an abrupt termination.

But Yale was in a desperate situation, for, at the beginning of the seventh, Harvard was three scores in the lead.

Merriwell had been on the point of going down and offering to do what he could to check Harvard's wild career, but it seemed that Old Man Hicks had done that, and so he sat still.

But Yale could not score. Coulter seemed to feel that the opportunity of his life had arrived, and he sent the Spalding's over the plate with all sorts of twists. The Yale men could not make fair and satisfactory connections with the ball, so no man reached home.

Hicks was lucky, and he succeeded in scattering the hits, which, with fine support, enabled him to retire Harvard with another goose's egg.

The eighth inning was disastrous for the blue, although Yale won a score by hard base running. When Harvard took her turn, she seemed to fathom Dad Hicks' delivery, and, for a short time, he was treated quite as bad as Heffiner had been. At the end of the eighth inning Harvard was six scores ahead, and it was plain that the game was lost for Yale.

Scores of sad-faced Yale spectators were heard expressing regret that Frank Merriwell had not been used in the game. Some of the wearers of the blue left the field immediately, unwilling to witness the termination of the game.

With despair set upon their faces, the Yale men went to the bat, ready to fight to the last gasp. But Coulter was also determined not to let slip any of the glory he had won, and all Yale's efforts to score were fruitless. The game ended with Harvard still six in the lead.

Phil Coulter was the hero of Harvard that night, while poor Hugh Heffiner returned to New Haven with his heart almost bursting with disappointment.