The fielder had secured the ball, he drove it to the shortstop, and shortstop whirled and sent it whistling home.  The catcher was ready to stop Merriwell.

“Slide!”

That word Frank heard above all the commotion.  He did slide.  Forward he scooted in a cloud of dust.  The catcher got the ball and put it onto Frank—­an instant too late!

A sudden silence.

“Safe home!” rang the voice of the umpire.

Then another roar, louder, wilder, full of unbounded joy!  The Yale cheer!  The band drowned by all the uproar!  The sight of sturdy lads in blue, delirious with delight, hugging a dust-covered youth, lifting him to their shoulders, and bearing him away in triumph.  Merriwell had won his own game, and his record was made.  It was a glorious finish!

“Never saw anything better,” declared Harry.  “Frank, you are a wonder!”

“He is that!” declared several others.  “Old Yale can’t get along without him.”

THE END.