Most of the visitors, to be sure, came to "root" for the Army, though there were not wanting several good-sized crowds that came to cheer and urge the Navy young men on to victory.

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 d.i.c.k.

"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.

"Look out. A little hunch is a dangerous thing," retorted d.i.c.k, with a grim smile.

CHAPTER XVIII

DAN DALZELL'S CRABTOWN GRIN

Six minutes later, the umpire called the captains to the home plate for the toss.

"There they are---the same old chums!" cried d.i.c.k, hitting Greg a nudge.

Darrin and Dalzell, of the Navy nine, had been trying to catch the eyes of the Army battery.

Now the four old chums raced together to a point midway between pitcher's box and home plate. There they met and clasped each others' hands.

"The same old pair, I know!" cried Dave Darrin heartily.

"And we think as much of you two as ever, even if you are in the poor old Army," grinned Dan. "We've come all the way up from Crabtown to teach you how to play ball. The knowledge will probably prove useful to you some day."

"Why, d.i.c.k," protested Holmes in mock astonishment, "these cabin boys seem to think they can really play ball!"

"And all I'm afraid of is that they can," laughed d.i.c.k.

"Can't we, though---just!" mocked Dan, dancing a brief little step.

"Wait until you take a stick to our work, and then see where you'll live!"

"Cut it, Danny, little lion-fighter, cut it!" warned Dave Darrin, with quiet good nature. "You know what they tell us all the time, down at Crabtown---that 'brag never scuttled a fighting ship yet.'

"Dave, you don't expect Danny to believe that, do you?" asked Greg, grinning hard. "Danny never went into anything that he didn't try to win by scaring the other side cold. If our instructors here know what they're talking about, hot air isn't necessarily fatal to the enemy."

"I can tell you one thing, anyway," chipped in Dan, while the other three grinned indulgently at him.

"Yes; you have it straight that this is to be the Army's game,"

mocked Greg. "But we knew that before we saw you to-day."

"There goes our joy-killer," grunted Prescott, as the umpire's shrill whistle sounded in. "Dave, we'll be in the Navy's dressing room just as soon as-----"

"Just as soon as this cruel war is over," hummed Dan.

The toss having been won by the Navy, the captain of that nine had chosen to go to bat.

Now the players on both sides were scattering swiftly to their posts.

d.i.c.k took but a bound or two back to the box, just as the umpire broke the package around the new ball and tossed it to the Army pitcher.

"Play ball!"

It was on, with a rush, and a cheer, led by some eight measures of music from the Military Academy Band, which had been quiet for a few minutes.

Then the cheer settled down, for Prescott found himself facing Dan Dalzell at the bat, with Darrin on deck.

"Wipe 'em!" signaled Greg's antics.

Now, to "wipe" Dalzell, who had known everyone of d.i.c.k's old curves and tricks in former days, did not look like a promising task, for Dalzell, in addition to his special knowledge about this pitcher, was an expert with the bat. But there might be a chance to put Dan on the mourner's bench. If Dalzell succeeded in picking up even a single from d.i.c.k's starting delivery, then Dave could be all but depended upon to push his Navy chum a bag or two further around the course.

"If I can twist Dan all up, it may serve to rattle Dave, too,"

thought the Army pitcher like a flash.

Dalzell poised the bat, and stood swinging it gently, with an expectant grin that, had it been a school audience, would have made the youngsters on the bleachers yell:

"Get your face closed tight, Danny! That grin hides the stick!"

Dalzell had often had that hurled at him in the old days, but he did not have to dread it now. But Prescott knew that old broad grin. It was Dalzell's favorite "rattler" for the ballt.o.s.s.e.r.

"I think I know the scheme for getting the hair off your goat,"

mused Prescott, as he sent in his first.

"Ball one!" called the umpire.

Dan's grin broadened.

"Ball two!"

Dalzell knew he had the Army pitcher going now, and didn't take the trouble to reach for the ball.

"Strike one!"

That took some of the starch out of the Navy batsman, who suddenly realized that this twirler for the Army was up to old tricks.