“Wipe ’em!” signaled Greg’s antics.

Now, to “wipe” Dalzell, who had known everyone of Dick’s old curves and tricks in former days, did not look like a promising task, for Dalzell, in addition to his special knowledge about this pitcher, was an expert with the bat.  But there might be a chance to put Dan on the mourner’s bench.  If Dalzell succeeded in picking up even a single from Dick’s starting delivery, then Dave could be all but depended upon to push his Navy chum a bag or two further around the course.

“If I can twist Dan all up, it may serve to rattle Dave, too,” thought the Army pitcher like a flash.

Dalzell poised the bat, and stood swinging it gently, with an expectant grin that, had it been a school audience, would have made the youngsters on the bleachers yell: 

“Get your face closed tight, Danny!  That grin hides the stick!”

Dalzell had often had that hurled at him in the old days, but he did not have to dread it now.  But Prescott knew that old broad grin.  It was Dalzell’s favorite “rattler” for the balltosser.

“I think I know the scheme for getting the hair off your goat,” mused Prescott, as he sent in his first.

“Ball one!” called the umpire.

Dan’s grin broadened.

“Ball two!”

Dalzell knew he had the Army pitcher going now, and didn’t take the trouble to reach for the ball.

“Strike one!”

That took some of the starch out of the Navy batsman, who suddenly realized that this twirler for the Army was up to old tricks.

“Strike two!”

Dan was sure he had that one, and he missed it only by an inch.

Gone, now, was the grin on Dalzell’s face.  A frown gathered between his eyes as he took harder hold of the stick and waited.

Nor did Prescott keep him long waiting.  The ball came in, and Dan gauged it fairly well.  Yet he fanned for the third time.

“Batsman out!”

Dan hesitated an almost imperceptible instant at the plate.  Swift as lightning he made a wry little mouth at Prescott.  It nearly broke Dick up with laughter as Dalzell stalked moodily to the bench and Dave stepped forward.

In fact, the Army pitcher choked and shook so that Durville called to him in a quiet, anxious voice from shortstop’s beat: 

“Anything wrong, ramrod?”

None of the spectators heard this, but most of them saw Dick’s short, vigorous shake of the head as he palmed the ball.

Then he let it go, for Darrin was waiting, and in grand old Dave’s eyes flashed the resolve to retrieve what had just been taken from the Navy.

“Darry can’t lose, anyway.  He’ll take the conceit out of these Army hikers,” predicted some of the knowing ones among the Navy fans.

“Ball one!”

Though not sure, Dave had expected this, and did not try keenly for Dick’s first delivery, which, as he knew of old, was seldom of this pitcher’s best.