"Surely," nodded Dick.
"Don't stick it out, unless you know you can do the trick," insisted
the Army captain earnestly.
"I'm just in feather!" smiled Dick.
Greg, too, had been a bit anxious; but when the first ball over
the plate stung his one unmitted hand, Holmes concluded that Prescott
did not need to be helped out of the box just at that time.
Then followed something which came so fast that the spectators all
but rubbed their eyes.
One after another Dick Prescott struck out three Navy batsmen.
Greg Holmes made this splendid work perfect by not letting anything
pass him.
That wound up the game, for Navy had not scored in the ninth, and
the rules forbade the Army nine to go again to bat to increase a
score that already stood at four to three.
Instantly the Academy band broke loose. Yet above it all dinned
the cheers of the greater part of the nine thousand spectators
present.
As soon as the band stopped the corps yell rose, with the names
of Durville, Prescott and Holmes, and of Carter whose batting luck
had played such a part in the eighth.
But, by the time that the corps yell rose the Army nine was nearly
off the field.
"Listen to the good noise, old ramrod," glowed Greg.
"It's the last time we'll ever hear the corps yell for any work
we do in West Point athletics," went on Greg mournfully.
"I know it," sighed Dick.
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