“I’ll try to give you something else, then,” chuckled Dick.

And give the batsman something else was just what he did.

Crack!  Durville swatted the ball.  It rose steeply at first, then sailed away gracefully towards the clouds.

“Get a fresh ball!” shouted one member of the training squad.  “That leather isn’t going to come down again!”

It did, though a scout had to run far afield to pick it up.

Lieutenant Lawrence didn’t look exactly disappointed, but he had hoped to see something better than this had been.

Five more Dick pitched in, and of these “Durry” put his mark on three.

“That will be enough to-day, I guess, Mr. Prescott,” remarked Lieutenant Lawrence in an even voice.

Poor Dick flushed, but was about to turn away from the pitcher’s box when Durville turned to the Army coach.

“If you really don’t mind, sir, I’d like to see Prescott throw in a few more.  He hasn’t held a ball in his hands for a long time, and I think he has only been warming up.”

“If you really think it worth while,” nodded the lieutenant.  Then, raising his voice: 

“We’ll have you try just a few more, Prescott.  Try to astonish everyone!”

Greg, whose face had flushed with mortification, now crouched a bit, sending Dick one of the old-time signals.  Holmes was not even sure his chum would remember the signal.

It is doubtful if anyone noticed the return that Dick sent back to show that he understood.

Durville took a good grip on his stick, his alert gaze on the man in the box.

With hardly a trace of flourish Dick let the ball go.  On it came, not very swift and straight over the plate.  “Durry” himself felt a sinking of the heart that.  Dick should let such an easy one leave him.

Yet Durville had his own work to do honestly.  He must pound this easy one and drive it as far as he could.

Durville swung and let go.  But just as he did so—–­that ball dropped!

It passed on a level two feet below the swinging stick, and Greg, with a quiet grin, neatly mitted it.

“Good!” muttered Coach Lawrence under his breath.  “Got any more like that, Prescott?” he called.

“I think I have a few, sir, when I get my arm warmed up and limbered,” Dick admitted.

“Take your time, then.  Don’t knock your arm out of shape.”

Again Greg was signaling, though the signal was so difficult to catch that many of the onlookers wondered if Holmes really had signaled.

Swish—–­ew—–­ew—–­zip!

Again Durville had fanned truly, though nothing but air.  The outshoot had seemed to spring lazily around, just out of reach of the end of his stick.

Now, every member of the squad, and all of the spectators were beginning to take keen notice.

“Slowly, Prescott.  Take your time between,” admonished Lieutenant Lawrence, who knew how easily a pitcher out of training might wrench his muscles and go stale for several days.