The applause that followed was enough to turn wiser heads.  When play was resumed the Army was fighting mad.  It was now victory or death for the soldier boys.  The West Point men were guilty of no fouls.  They played squarely and like gentlemen, but they cared nothing for snapping muscles and sinews.  Before the mad work the Navy was borne back.  Just before the close of the third period, the Navy was forced to make a safety on its own account.

“But Wolgast was satisfied, and the Navy coaches more than pleased.

“There’s a fourth period coming,” Wolgast told himself.  “But for Darry and his splendid interference the Army would get our scalp yet.  Darry looks to be all right, and I believe he is.  He’ll hold out for the fourth.”

Eight to two, and the game three quarters finished.  The Army cheermaster did his duty, but did it half dejectedly, the cadets following with rolling volumes of noise intended to mask sinking hearts.  When it came the Navy’s turn to yell, the midshipmen risked the safety of their windpipes.  The Naval Academy Band was playing with unwonted joy.

“Fellows, nothing on earth will save us but a touchdown and a kick,” called Douglass desperately, when he got his West Point men aside.  “That will tie the score.  It’s our best chance to-day.”

“Unless, suh,” gravely observed Anstey, “We can follow that by driving the midshipmen into a safety.”

“And we could do even that, if we had Prescott and Holmesy here,” thought Douglass, with sinking heart to himself.  He was careful not to repeat that sentiment audibly.

“Holmesy ought to be here to-day, and working,” growled one of the Army subs.  “He’s a sneak, just to desert on Mr. Prescott’s account.”

“None of that!” called Doug sharply.

The Army head coach came along, talking quietly but forcefully to the all but discouraged cadets.  Then he addressed himself to Douglass, explaining what he thought were next to the weakest points in the Navy line.

“You ought to be able to save the score yet, Mr. Douglass,” wound up coach.

“I wish some one else had the job!” sighed Doug to himself.

“Fellows, the main game that is left,” explained Wolgast to the midshipmen, “is to keep West Point from scoring.  As to our own points, we have enough now—–­though more will be welcome.”

Play began in the fourth period.  At first it was nip and tuck, neck and neck.  But the Army braced and put the pigskin within sixteen yards of the Navy’s goal line.  Then the men from Annapolis seemed suddenly to wake up.  Darrin, who had had little to do in the last few plays, was now sent to the front again.  Steadily, even brilliantly, he, Dalzell and Jetson figured in the limelight plays.  Yard after yard was gained, while the Army eleven shivered.  At last it came to the inevitable.  The Army was forced to use another safety.  Stinging under the sense of defeat, the cadet players put that temporary chance to such good advantage that they gradually got the pigskin over into Naval territory.  But there the midshipmen held it until the timekeeper interposed.