ining.

Despite these handicaps, the West Point team generally holds its
own end up very well indeed. The West Point men have one advantage;
they are always in training, for which reason their bodily condition
is always good. It is in the finer points of the technique of
the game that the United States military cadets suffer from less
practice.

Maitland, of the second class, was captain of the team this year.
He was a much disturbed man when Dick and Greg reached the gym.

"What ails Maitland?" Dick asked Furlong.

"Haven't you heard? Kennedy is a great tosser, but he has his bad
days when his wrist goes stale. And Tatham, the sub., fought his
way through a poor dinner, but then he had to give up and go to
hospital. He's threatened with some kind of fever, we hear. That
leaves us without a sub. today."

"Oh, does it?" thought Prescott. With quick step and eager eye
he sought Captain Maitland, who was also catcher for the nine.

"Mr. Maitland, I understand you're without a satisfactory sub.
pitcher for today?"

"Confound it, yes; we're praying for the strength of Kennedy's
wrist."

"You may remember that I tried for pitcher."

"I know you did," replied Maitland gloomily. "But the coaches
thought Kennedy and Tatham ahead of you."

"If Kennedy should go bad today," pressed Dick eagerly, "I trust
you will be willing order me in from second to the box. I know
that I won't disappoint you. Ebbett and Dunstan are both good
men at second."

Captain Maitland looked thoughtful.

"I'm afraid, Prescott, if Kennedy does happen to go stale, we'll
have to call on you."

"I won't disappoint you, if you do, Captain!"

Then Maitland turned to regard Meacham, who was entering at that
moment.

"What on earth ails you, Meacham?" demanded the worried captain
of the nine.

"I was at a loot party last night," confessed Meacham miserably.

"Overeating yourself---when you're in training, man?"

"Honestly, Maitland, I didn't believe the little that I put down
was going to throw me. There wasn't a murmur until eleven this
morning, and I felt sure that was going to work off. But it won't,
and, oh, my!"

West Point's shortstop put his hands over his belt line, looking
comically miserable. But to Captain Maitland there was no humor
in the situation.

"You're a fine one!" growled Maitland. "Oh, Holmesy! Come over
here, please. You haven't been teasing your stomach, have you?"

"I don't know that I have a