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 d.i.c.k was off, outside of the foul line, his eye on Dave Darrin and on every other living figure of the Navy nine.

It was Holden up, now, and, though the cadets on the grandstand looked at Carter briefly, with praise in their eyes for his two-bagger that had meant two runs, the eyes of the young men in gray swiftly roved over by the plate, to keep full track of Holden's performance.

But Holden struck out, and Army hopes sank. Tyrrell came in to the plate, and on him hung the last hope. If he failed, Army fans would be near despair.

Dave Darrin was beginning to feel the hot pace a bit, for in this inning he had exerted himself more than in any preceding one.

However, that was all between Darrin and himself. Not another player on the field guessed how glad Dave would be for the end of the game. Yet he steeled himself, and sent in swift, elusive ones for Tyrrell to hit.

Swat! Tyrrell landed a blow against the leather, at the last chance that he had at it. It was a bunt, but Navy's shortstop simply couldn't reach it in time to pick it up without the slightest fumble. That delay brought Lanton home and over the plate.

How the plain resounded with cheers! For now the Army led by a single run, and Tyrrell was safe at first.

Jackson up, with Beckwith on deck. There was hope of further scoring.

Yet no keen disappointment was felt when Jackson struck out.

In from pasture trooped the Navy men, eager to retrieve all in the ninth.

"Fit to stay in the box, old ramrod?" anxiously asked "Durry,"

as the nines changed.

"Surely," nodded d.i.c.k.

"Don't stick it out, unless you know you can do the trick," insisted the Army captain earnestly.

"I'm just in feather!" smiled d.i.c.k.

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 d.i.c.k Prescott struck out three Navy batsmen.

Greg Holmes made this splendid work perfect by not letting anything pa.s.s 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 d.i.c.k. "If we ever hear cheers for us again, we'll have to win the noise by a gallant charge, or something like that."

"In the Army," replied Greg, choking somewhat.

"Yes; in the good old Army," went on d.i.c.k, his eyes kindling.

"I don't feel any uneasiness about getting through the final exams. now. We're as good as second lieutenants already, Holmesy!"

While thus chatting, however, the two chums were keeping pace with their comrades of the nine. The nine from Annapolis moved in a compact group a little ahead down the road.

Just before the Army ball-t.o.s.s.e.rs reached the dressing quarters, Lieutenant Lawrence, their coach, hastened ahead of them, meeting them in the doorway.

"The best nine we've had in a long number of years, gentlemen,"

glowed coach, as he shook the hand of each in pa.s.sing. "Thank you all for your splendid, hard work!"

Thanks like that was sweet music, after all. But d.i.c.k raced to dressing quarters full of but one thing.

"Quick, Holmesy! We don't know how soon the Navy team may have to run down the road to a train."

"Aren't they going to have supper at the mess?" demanded Greg, as he stripped.

"I don't know; I'm afraid not."

d.i.c.k and Greg were the first of the Army nine to be dressed in their fatigue uniforms. Immediately they made a quick break for the Navy quarters.

"It looks almost cheeky to throw ourselves in on the other fellows,"

muttered Greg dubiously. "Some of the middies will think we've come in on purpose to see how they take their beating."

"They didn't get a bad enough beating to need to feel ashamed,"

replied d.i.c.k. "And we won't say a word about the game, anyway."

"May we come in?" called Prescott, knocking on the door of the middies' quarters.

"Who's there?" called a voice. Then the Navy coach, in uniform, opened the door.

"Oh, come in, gentlemen," called the coach, holding out his hand.

"And let me congratulate you, Prescott and Holmes, on the very fine game that you two had a star part in putting up for the nine from Crabtown."

"Thank you, sir," d.i.c.k replied. "But we didn't call on that account.

There are two old chums of ours here, sir, that we're looking for."

"See anything of them anywhere?" smiled Dave Darrin, stepping forward, minus his blouse and holding out both hands.

d.i.c.k and Greg pounced upon Dave. Then Dan struggled into another article of clothing and ran forward from the rear of the room.

"How soon do you go?" asked d.i.c.k eagerly.

"The 6.14 train to New York," replied Dave.