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Updated: June 8, 2025
McCann turned and retreated to his position, growling and muttering in an ugly manner. "Play ball, boys!" he called. "We can win the game, even if the umpire is against us!" Basil Bearover hurried to the bench of the home players and grasped Frank Merriwell by the shoulder. "Is this the kind of square deal you promised us?" he demanded. Merry rose, turned, and faced the man.
"Oh, I'll get onto their style of hitting, all right," nodded Bender. "Neither of those chaps will touch me next time." Bearover was speaking to McCann. "We want to make some runs in this inning, Mike," he said. "If we can roll up a few tallies, it ought to discourage the youngsters.
Feeling that he was up against an unusual proposition, Bearover returned to the visitors' bench, where Silence was somewhat nervously smoking a cigarette. Bart Hodge was in position to strike. Bender whipped the ball over. Hodge let it pass. "One strike!" announced Carker. Bender's curve had carried the ball over the outside corner.
If you don't care to drink, that's your business, and I'll guarantee you won't be urged." "Waal, that's pretty decent of you, Mr. Bearover," said Ephraim, permitting the stout man to take his arm and lead him away. In a few minutes they arrived at Priley's Hotel, known in Wellsburg to be the "hang out" of the sporting class. "We're stopping here," explained the baseball manager.
The horse tossed its head, wrinkled its upper lip, and seemed to grin. "That gave the big bear a jolt," he apparently observed. Bearover's companion was a husky-looking young Irishman, and he now seemed on the point of taking flight. He was even paler than Bearover, and his teeth actually chattered together. "Holy saints!" he gasped. "The divvil is in the beast! It spakes."
If one of my players should rush at him the way McCann did, I should expect him to put the man on the bench or off the field. If he didn't do it, I'd do it myself. You know Bender threw that ball at Mulloy to drive him back from the plate, and you also know that Mulloy was in his proper position." "Aren't we going to have any sort of a square deal here?" gurgled Bearover furiously.
Dot hoss peen a good 'rithmeticker uf he coot talk or not. Yah!" "You've had your fun with me, Mr. Merriwell," said Bearover, ignoring the Dutchman; "but I hope to have a little sport with you later. I've driven over from Wellsburg this morning for the express purpose of seeing you." "What can I do for you, sir?" asked Merry. "I understand you have a baseball team here."
That's the only way to win. None of the boys like to be robbed." "Waal, they ain't to blame for that." Bearover produced a cigar case. "Have a smoke," he invited. "Don't keer if I do, thank you," said Ephraim, as he accepted a cigar. "You're a pleasant sort of chap," said the manager of the Rovers, as he bit off the end of a cigar and slipped the case back into his pocket.
All the same, if them fellers start a row, we'll back you up to the finish! We know you're a gentleman on the baseball field and off it. You've gut the sympathy of every decent man here." "That's right! that's right!" came from all sides of the field. Basil Bearover stepped out from the bench and called McCann's attention. "Play ball, Mike," he said. "We can win, anyhow. Let the umpire alone."
Not more than five or ten minutes after parting from Frank and Barney, Gallup came face to face with a man who stepped squarely in front of him and held out a pudgy hand. "How do you do," said this man. "I'm glad to see you, young fellow. Saw you drive through with Merriwell. Did he bring that wonderful educated horse with him?" It was Basil Bearover, the manager of the Rovers. Gallup grinned.
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