BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN
Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell
PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS
Fascinating Stories of Athletics
A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will
attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of
two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with
the rest of the world.
These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and
athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be
of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.
They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a
good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous
right-thinking man.
ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
101—Frank Merriwell’s Nomads
102—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron
103—Dick Merriwell’s Disguise
104—Dick Merriwell’s Test
105—Frank Merriwell’s Trump Card
106—Frank Merriwell’s Strategy
107—Frank Merriwell’s Triumph
108—Dick Merriwell’s Grit
109—Dick Merriwell’s Assurance
110—Dick Merriwell’s Long Slide
111—Frank Merriwell’s Rough Deal
112—Dick Merriwell’s Threat
113—Dick Merriwell’s Persistence
114—Dick Merriwell’s Day
115—Frank Merriwell’s Peril
116—Dick Merriwell’s Downfall
117—Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit
118—Dick Merriwell Abroad
119—Frank Merriwell in the Rockies
120—Dick Merriwell’s Pranks
121—Frank Merriwell’s Pride
122—Frank Merriwell’s Challengers
123—Frank Merriwell’s Endurance
124—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness
125—Frank Merriwell’s Marriage
126—Dick Merriwell, the Wizard
127—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke
128—Dick Merriwell’s Return
129—Dick Merriwell’s Resource
130—Dick Merriwell’s Five
131—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers
132—Dick Merriwell’s Polo Team
133—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils
134—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy
135—Dick Merriwell’s Home Run
136—Dick Merriwell’s Dare
137—Frank Merriwell’s Son
138—Dick Merriwell’s Team Mate
139—Frank Merriwell’s Leaguers
140—Frank Merriwell’s Happy Camp
141—Dick Merriwell’s Influence
142—Dick Merriwell, Freshman
143—Dick Merriwell’s Staying Power
144—Dick Merriwell’s Joke
145—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman
146—Frank Merriwell’s Horse
147—Dick Merriwell’s Regret
148—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism
149—Dick Merriwell’s Backers
150—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work
151—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust
152—Dick Merriwell’s Debt
153—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery
154—Dick Merriwell Adrift
155—Frank Merriwell’s Worst Boy
156—Dick Merriwell’s Close Call
157—Frank Merriwell’s Air Voyage
158—Dick Merriwell’s Black Star
159—Frank Merriwell in Wall Street
160—Frank Merriwell Facing His Foes
161—Dick Merriwell’s Stanchness
162—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Case
163—Dick Merriwell’s Stand
164—Dick Merriwell Doubted
165—Frank Merriwell’s Steadying Hand
166—Dick Merriwell’s Example
167—Dick Merriwell in the Wilds
168—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch
169—Dick Merriwell’s Way
170—Frank Merriwell’s Lesson
171—Dick Merriwell’s Reputation
172—Frank Merriwell’s Encouragement
173—Dick Merriwell’s Honors
174—Frank Merriwell’s Wizard
175—Dick Merriwell’s Race
176—Dick Merriwell’s Star Play
177—Frank Merriwell at Phantom Lake
178—Dick Merriwell a Winner
179—Dick Merriwell at the County Fair
180—Frank Merriwell’s Grit
181—Dick Merriwell’s Power
182—Frank Merriwell in Peru
183—Frank Merriwell’s Long Chance
184—Frank Merriwell’s Old Form
185—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure Hunt
186—Dick Merriwell Game to the Last
187—Dick Merriwell, Motor King
188—Dick Merriwell’s Tussle
189—Dick Merriwell’s Aero Dash
190—Dick Merriwell’s Intuition
191—Dick Merriwell’s Placer Find
192—Dick Merriwell’s Fighting Chance
193—Frank Merriwell’s Tact
194—Frank Merriwell’s Puzzle
195—Frank Merriwell’s Mystery
196—Frank Merriwell, the Lionhearted
197—Frank Merriwell’s Tenacity
198—Dick Merriwell’s Perception
199—Dick Merriwell’s Detective Work
200—Dick Merriwell’s Commencement
201—Dick Merriwell’s Decision
202—Dick Merriwell’s Coolness
203—Dick Merriwell’s Reliance
204—Frank Merriwell’s Young Warriors
205—Frank Merriwell’s Lads
206—Dick Merriwell in Panama
207—Dick Merriwell in South America
208—Dick Merriwell’s Counsel
In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the books
listed below will be issued during the respective months in New York
City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.
To be published in January, 1929.
209—Dick Merriwell, Universal Coach
210—Dick Merriwell’s Varsity Nine
To be published in February, 1929.
211—Dick Merriwell’s Heroic Players
212—Dick Merriwell at the Olympics
To be published in March, 1929.
213—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Tested
214—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Conquests
215—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Rivals
To be published in April, 1929.
216—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Helping Hand
217—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona
To be published in May, 1929.
218—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Mission
219—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Iceboat Adventure
To be published in June, 1929.
220—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Timely Aid
221—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in the Desert
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Dick Merriwell’s Heroic Players
OR
HOW THE YALE NINE WON THE
CHAMPIONSHIP
By
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous Merriwell Stories.
Publisher’s Logo
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
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Copyright, 1912
By STREET & SMITH
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Dick Merriwell’s Heroic Players
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
Printed in the U. S. A.
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DICK MERRIWELL’S HEROIC PLAYERS.
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CHAPTER I
INSIDE BASEBALL.
Jim Phillips, industriously making himself a master of certain abstruse
problems in mathematics, excited the derision of big Bill Brady, chiefly
because it was a warm, lazy spring day, and, therefore, as Bill saw it,
entirely out of the question for serious work.
“It’s bad enough to have to go out and do baseball practice,” said Jim’s
big catcher. The two were sophomores, and had won fame as the great Yale
battery that had humbled every college team with any pretensions to the
championship except Harvard. “But I suppose that if we’re going to win
that series from the boys in the red socks, we’ve got to do a little
practicing.”
Phillips himself paid no attention, but Harry Maxwell, his former
roommate, who had dropped in for a call, was willing enough to talk.
“You’re not worrying about those Johnnies?” he said. “Why, Bill, they’ll
be easy. We’ve whipped Princeton and Michigan—better teams than any
Harvard has played, and better than Harvard, too, if you ask me.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Bill. “I’m no prize pessimist, but I’ve
been watching this Harvard team pretty closely, and I’ve noticed that
they haven’t had to work very hard to win any of their big games yet.
For instance, they beat Cornell two games straight, and did it easy.
They gave Pennsylvania the same dose—and we had the time of our lives
beating both of those teams. They’ve got a pitcher called Briggs up
there at Cambridge, and from the records he’s some pitcher. He played
once against Cornell and once against Pennsylvania, and he shut them
both out. He’s only pitched about five games this year, because their
man from last year, Wooley, is plenty good enough to keep most college
teams guessing. But they’ll serve Mr. Briggs up for us, with trimmings,
believe me, and if we do any free and fancy hitting while he’s in the
box I miss my guess.”
“I haven’t heard much about this Briggs,” said Maxwell curiously.
He knew that Bill Brady’s opinion on any baseball matter was a mighty
good one, and that Dick Merriwell, Yale’s universal coach, regarded the
big catcher as one of his most useful aides in the development of a
championship team.
“That’s because you don’t read the Boston papers,” said Bill. “They’ve
been keeping him pretty well under cover—and every one knows why that
is, too. They’re saving him up for us. You know how they are up
there—beat Yale, no matter what else you do or don’t do. If you can beat
Yale, all right. But I was up in Cambridge one day last week, when you
fellows didn’t know it, and I managed to see their game with Amherst
without being recognized. They sent Briggs in to pitch the nine innings,
and what he did to those Amherst fellows was a sin and a shame. They
didn’t get a hit or a run. Now, Amherst isn’t much this year. We beat
them in a walk, with old Winston pitching, and Sam Taylor doing most of
the work for him behind the bat, at that.
“But the thing that got me was that Briggs wasn’t really working his
head off at all. He just breezed along, and took things easy, and he’s
got a catcher who understands every little trick to make a pitcher do
his best—chap called Bowen. I know him well. He was a couple of years
ahead of me at Andover, and he taught me a whole lot about the game
then. Now he’s a senior at Harvard and captain of the team, and this boy
Briggs is his specialty. He’s been spending seven days a week and about
four hours a day coaching him, since March. And, take it from me, it’s
showing up.
“He’s so much better than any of these pitchers we’ve been running up
against that we’ll be lucky to get a hit off him. He can’t pitch more’n
two of the games, though. That’s one good thing. They’ll use him at
Cambridge in the first game, and shoot Wooley in for the second game
here. And, if the series is even, they’ll have Briggs come back at us in
New York. They’re willing to drop one game. I’ve told Mr. Merriwell all
I know about Briggs, and he’s inclined to think we’re in for the
toughest series yet.”
Baseball proved more attractive to Jim Phillips than the higher
mathematics. He turned around to Bill Brady.
“What’s this chap got that makes you think so much of him, Bill?” he
asked.
“Control,” said Brady. “He hasn’t got your curves—or, if he has, he
didn’t show them. But he’s got control, and he can put that ball exactly
where Bowen calls for it ten times out of ten. And Bowen knows just
where it ought to go, too.”
“H’m-m,” said Jim soberly. “We’re not what you’d call prize hitters this
year, Bill. Harry Maxwell here makes a long hit once in a while, and so
can Sherman and Jackson. But you’re the only clean slugger on the team.
How about it? Can you hit him?”
“Not unless he wants me to,” said Bill cheerfully. “He can keep that
ball right under my chin if he wants to. He didn’t show a drop on that
ball the other day, but if he’s got one he can fan me about four times.
If he can’t, I’ll get a base on balls a couple of times. That’s about
the limit of my speed against him. I can’t hit a high ball, and Bowen
knows it, too.”
“It might be a good idea for you to learn, then,” said Jim pleasantly.
He looked at his watch. “Come along! It’s half past one now. We’ll cut
that lecture on political science—we’ve got three cuts left in that—pick
up Sam Taylor, and go out to the field. Then I’ll show you a few things
about high-ball pitching.”
Brady groaned in mock dismay at the prospect of some extra practice.
“Gee!” he said. “You’re a worse slave driver than Dick Merriwell
himself. How about Harry here? He hasn’t learned to hit a fast shoot
yet—and he always swipes at them. Doesn’t he need to practice, too?”
“He sure does,” said Jim Phillips. “Come on, Harry. You’re elected, too.
We’ve got to try to have a warm reception ready for Mr. Briggs if he’s
so especially keen about making trouble for us. Good thing you picked up
one of his tricks, Bill. It may mean the difference between winning and
losing if we can pick up a run right at the start, before he and Bowen
get on to the fact that we’ve corrected some of the weaknesses he’s been
counting on.”
Jim Phillips, already assured, by his remarkable pitching, of the
captaincy of the next year’s nine, although he would then be only a
junior, although few Yale captains are chosen from any but the senior
class, had qualities of leadership that made his fitness for that
important position very marked.
To induce men like Maxwell and Brady, his intimate friends and
classmates, to go out on such a day, when the very air invited them to
loaf and rejoice in the lassitude of the weather, was no small feat. It
was his magnetism and his persuasiveness that accomplished it; and such
qualities do much for a man who must lead other men. In college sports,
particularly, a captain should be a leader rather than a driver,
inducing men to do what he wants in a tactful way, so that they will be
willing and eager, instead of feeling that they are being forced to do
their work because of the authority vested in the captain.
Taylor, the senior catcher, once an enemy of Jim Phillips, but now his
devoted friend, although Bill Brady had displaced him as the regular
varsity catcher, as Jim Phillips had displaced Taylor’s roommate and
closest friend, Bob Gray, as the first-string pitcher, proved very
willing to go out to the field with them and catch for Jim while the
other two practiced with their bats in the effort to become familiar
with the curves most likely to be employed by the formidable Harvard
pitcher.
At the field they found the diamond already well occupied with freshmen,
who, while they awaited the arrival of their coach, were enjoying
themselves in a scratch game. The upper classmen immediately impressed
half a dozen of the youngsters as fielders, and stationing them in
position, began their extra practice.
Dick Merriwell, the universal coach, arrived before they had been long
at work, and, soon guessing what they were doing, stood apart and
watched them.
“Good work!” he said finally, walking over to them. “Putting in a little
practice for the benefit of Mr. Briggs?”
Brady explained what they were doing.
“I’m getting on to the way to slam that high ball out,” he said. “I’ve
always stepped back from it before. I got hit on the head by one of
those balls when I was a youngster, and I’ve been gun-shy ever since.
But Jim’s got the right idea. He marked out a place for me to stand, and
he’s been pitching so close to my head that, if I had a beard, he would
have rubbed my whiskers off. I see now what my trouble was. I’d always
draw away, and by the time I tried to hit the ball, I’d be off my
balance, and couldn’t knock it out of the infield.”
Jim sent a high ball whizzing in just after that. Brady shortened his
bat and drove the ball on a terrific line right over the third baseman’s
head. In a game, such a drive would have been good for two bases at
least, possibly three.
“You fellows stole a march on me here,” said Merriwell, with a smile.
“That’s the sort of spirit that wins baseball games, too. Be ready, no
matter how much trouble it is. It isn’t on the field that baseball
championships are won. It’s in the heads of the winners—it’s the men who
think about the game and know just what they’re going to do when the
emergency comes along.”
Jim Phillips flushed slightly with pleasure. Like all other real Yale
men, he had the greatest possible respect and liking for the universal
coach. Moreover, Merriwell had aided him since he had been in Yale in
several affairs that had looked serious, and he thought much of his
praise.
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