papers all over the country had declared that he was one of the
very best college "twirlers."

This, however, was Hugh Heffiner's last year at Yale, and, without
doubt, the coming game was the last he would ever pitch for "Old Eli."

Until Merriwell appeared, Heffiner had been Yale's mainstay in the box,
and his admirers declared that it was pretty sure that a long time would
elapse before he would have a worthy successor.

But Heffiner was overworked, and he came near throwing his arm out. As
it was, he strained his arm so that he was utterly unable to pitch at
all.

Then it was that it was found necessary to find somebody to assist the
"change pitcher," Dad Hicks, in his work.

Hicks was good for four or five innings, but he was unable to keep up
the strain through an entire game.

Paul Pierson, captain and manager of the Yale nine, had seen Merriwell
do some pitching for the freshmen, and he resolved to give Frank a
trial.

Pierson's judgment was not at fault, and Merriwell quickly proved that
he was worthy to become Heffiner's successor.

Of course there was much regret because Frank could not be on the bench,
at least, ready to go into the game if needed; but all seemed to feel
confident that Heffiner would make his last game for Yale a hot one. He
had done some marvelous work, and, as he declared himself in prime
condition, there was no reason why he should not hold Harvard down on
this occasion.

While Merriwell was surrounded by friends in the smoker, and the boys
were having a decidedly jolly time, Duncan Yates was getting into a
decidedly ugly mood in the adjoining car.

When Yates thought of his failure to beat his rival in the dash to the
station he ground his teeth and muttered bitter curses.

And he was egged on by Fred Flemming and Andy Emery. Tom Thornton had
joined the group, but he said very little; and, when he found an
opportunity, he whispered in Flemming's ear:

"Better go slow. Remember the promise we gave Merriwell. If he finds out
we are working against him, it will go hard with us."

"He won't find it out. I hate him too much to keep still if I can arouse
another fellow against him. Give me your flask. Yates has killed all I
have in mine."

Thornton took a whiskey flask from his pocket, and slipped it into
Flemming's hand. Then he left, for he did not wish Merriwell's friends
to see him in such company.

Flemming and Emery made a pretense of drinking with Yates, but they did