Hutchins was wholly cool, and had keen eye for batting. He hoped,
despite what he had heard of Prescott's cleverness, to send Navy
spirits booming by at least a two-bagger.
"Strike one!"
Prescott had not wasted any moments, this time, and Hutchins was
caught unawares. The little first baseman flushed and a steely
look came into his eyes.
At the next one he struck, but it came across the plate as an
out-shoot that was just too far out for Hutchins's reach. Had
he not offered it would have been a "called ball."
With two strikes called against him, and nothing moving, Hutchins
felt the ooze coming out of his neck and forehead. The Navy had
been playing grand ball that spring. It would never do to let the
Army get too easy a start.
But Dick poised, twirled and let go. It was a straight-away,
honest and fair ball that he sent. To be sure there was a trace
of in-shoot about it that made Hutchins misjudge it so that, in
the next instant, the passionless umpire sounded the monotonous
solo:
"Strike three---and out. Side out!"
From the Navy seats dead calm, but from the band came a blare
of brass and a clash of drums and cymbals as the cheering started.
In an instant, out of all the hubbub, came the long corps yell
from the cadets, ending with:
"Prescott! Holmes!"
Sweet music, indeed, to the Army battery. But Greg heard it on
the wing, so to speak, for at the changing of the sides he had
hastened forward, so as to pass Dan Dalzell:
"Danny boy, after the game, I want you to do something big for
me," whispered Cadet Holmes.
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