It rose steeply at first,
then sailed away gracefully towards the clouds.
"Get a fresh ball!" shouted one member of the training squad.
"That leather isn't going to come down again!"
It did, though a scout had to run far afield to pick it up.
Lieutenant Lawrence didn't look exactly disappointed, but he had
hoped to see something better than this had been.
Five more Dick pitched in, and of these "Durry" put his mark on
three.
"That will be enough to-day, I guess, Mr. Prescott," remarked
Lieutenant Lawrence in an even voice.
Poor Dick flushed, but was about to turn away from the pitcher's
box when Durville turned to the Army coach.
"If you really don't mind, sir, I'd like to see Prescott throw
in a few more. He hasn't held a ball in his hands for a long
time, and I think he has only been warming up."
"If you really think it worth while," nodded the lieutenant.
Then, raising his voice:
"We'll have you try just a few more, Prescott. Try to astonish
everyone!"
Greg, whose face had flushed with mortification, now crouched
a bit, sending Dick one of the old-time signals. Holmes was not
even sure his chum would remember the signal.
It is doubtful if anyone noticed the return that Dick sent back to
show that he understood.
Durville took a good grip on his stick, his alert gaze on the man
in the box.
With hardly a trace of flourish Dick let the ball go.
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