By noon there were three thousand outsiders on the West Point
reservation. Afternoon trains, stages and automobiles brought
crowds after that. By three o'clock everyone that expected to
see the game had arrived. There were now nine thousand people
on the grandstands and along the sides.
"Nine?" repeated Durville in the dressing room, when the word
was brought to him. "Five thousand used to be about the usual
crowd, I believe. Old ramrod, you and Holmesy are surely responsible
for the other four thousand. Darrin and Dalzell can't have done
it all, for the Navy always travels light on baggage when headed
this way. Yes, you and Holmesy have dragged the crowd in."
"Quit your joshing," muttered Greg, who was bending over his shoe
laces.
"Yes; cut it. We can stand it better after the game," laughed Dick.
"Get your men out in five minutes more, Durville," called Lieutenant
Lawrence, looking in. "The Navy fellows have been on the field
ten minutes already. You want to limber up your men a bit before
game is called."
Already the sound had reached dressing quarters of the visiting
fans cheering for the Navy.
In three minutes more the cheering ascended with four times as
much volume, for now Durville marched the picked Army nine on
to the field, and the fans on the stands caught sight of these
trim young soldiers.
"I've got a hunch you'll do it for us to-day," whispered Beckwith
in Prescott's ear.
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