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 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. "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 Dick, 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-tossers 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 passing. "Thank
you a