In response, Darrin took an
extra hard twist around the leather, unwound, unbent and let go.
_Crack_! Batter's luck, and nothing else!
"Carter, Carter, Carter!" broke loose from the mouths of half a
thousand gray-clad cadets, and the late anxious batter was sprinting
for all there was in him.
Just to right of center field, and past, went the ball---a good
old two-bagger for any player that could run.
From third Dick came in at a good jog, but he did not exert himself.
He had seen how long it must take to get the ball in circulation.
As for Holmes, he hit a faster pace. He turned on steam, just
barely touching third as he turned with no thought of letting
up this side of the home plate.
Lanton made third---he had to, for Carter was bent on kicking
the second bag in time.
Had there been another full second to spare Carter would have
made it. But Navy center field judged that it would be far easier
to put Carter out than to play that trick on Lanton, since the
latter had but ninety feet to run, anyway.
So Carter was out, but Lanton was hanging at third, crazy with
eagerness to get in.
It all hung on Lanton now. If he got across the home plate in
time enough it would give the Army the lead by one run. At this
moment the score was tied---three to three!
"Get out there and coach Lantin, old ramrod," begged "Durry,"
and Dick was off, outside of the foul line, his eye on Dave Darrin
and on every other living figure of the Navy nine.
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