The left fielder threw well, and the ball struck in the catcher’s mitt.  It did not stick, however, and the catcher lost the only opportunity to stop the score.

Harvard had scored at last!

The Harvard cheer rent the air, and crimson fluttered on all sides.

Frank struck out the next man, and then Yale came to bat, resolved to do or die.  But they did not do much.  Yedding was as good as ever, and the fielders gathered in anything that came their way.

At the end of the eighth inning the score remained one to nothing in Harvard’s favor.  It looked as if Yale would receive a shut out, and that was something awful to contemplate.  The “sons of Old Eli” were ready to do anything to win a score or two.

In the first half of the ninth Harvard went at it to make some more runs.  One man got a hit, stole second, and went to third on an error that allowed the batter to reach first.

Sport Harris had been disappointed when Merriwell continued to remain in the box, but now he said: 

“He’s rattled.  Here’s where they kill him.”

But Frank proved that he was not rattled.  He tricked the man on third into getting off the bag and then threw him out in a way that brought a yell of delight from Yale men.  That fixed it so the next batter could not sacrifice with the object of letting the man on third home.  Then he got down to business, and Harvard was whitewashed for the last time.

“Oh, if Yale can score now!” muttered hundreds.

The first man up flied out to center, and the next man was thrown out at first.  That seemed to settle it.  The spectators were making preparations to leave.  The Yale bat-tender, with his face long and doleful, was gathering up the sticks.

What’s that?  The next man got a safe hit, a single that placed him on first.  Then Frank Merriwell was seen carefully selecting a bat.

“Oh, if he were a heavy hitter!” groaned many voices.

Yedding was confident—­much too confident.  He laughed in Frank’s face.  He did not think it necessary to watch the man on first closely, and so that man found an opportunity to steal second.

Two strikes and two balls had been called.  Then Yedding sent in a swift one to cut the inside corner.  Merriwell swung at it.

Crack!  Bat and ball met fairly, and away sailed the sphere over the head of the shortstop.

“Run!”

That word was a roar.  No need to tell Frank to run.  In a moment he was scudding down to first, while the left fielder was going back for the ball which had passed beyond his reach.  Frank kept on for second.  There was so much noise he could not hear the coachers, but he saw the fielder had not secured the ball.  He made third, and the excited coacher sent him home with a furious gesture.

Every man, woman and child was standing.  It seemed as if every one was shouting and waving flags, hats, or handkerchiefs.  It was a moment of such thrilling, nerve-tingling excitement as is seldom experienced.  If Merriwell reached home Yale won; if he failed, the score was tied, for the man in advance had scored.