Spirits were gloomy among the West Point rooters.  Yet, within a few moments, they sat up, taking notice.

Dick, with his nerves a-tingle, his eye keen, measured up the Lehigh batsman and sent in one of his old-time, famous Gridley spit-balls.  It looked slow and easy.  The Lehigh man swung a well-aimed crack at the ball.

“Strike one,” announced the umpire.

Again Prescott turned his wrist and twirled.

“Strike two!”

Then an outcurve.

“Strike three!  Out!”

Lehigh began to look with some interest at this new, confident pitcher.

The next Lehigh man to bat met a similar fate.  So did the third man.

Now, the West Point yells went up with new force and purpose.

The corps yell rose, loud and thunderous, followed by three cries of “Prescott!”

In their half of the inning, West Point put men on first and second, but that was the best they could do.

So it dragged along to the seventh inning.  Army rooters were now sure that West Point’s star pitcher had been found at last, and that Lehigh would have rare luck to score again today.  But West Point didn’t seem able to score, either, and Lehigh had the one needed dot.

As Army went to bat Greg took up the stick and swung it expectantly.

“Do something, Greg,” Dick had whispered.  “I’m the second man after you, and I’ll back you if you can get a start.  Remember the old Gridley days of victory.  Get some of that same old ginger into you!”

Holmes, as he swung the stick over the plate, seemed to feel himself back on the old athletic field of Gridley High School.  And these stalwart college boys before him seemed to him to be the old, old Tottenville High School youngsters.

One strike Greg essayed and lost.  At the second offer, he hit the ball a sharp crack and started.  He reached first, but as he turned, the ball fell into the hands of Lehigh’s second baseman, and Greg fell back to safety at first.

Ebbett, who followed, hit at the third offer, driving the ball almost under the feet of Lehigh’s right-fielder.  As that man seized it he saw that Greg was within kicking distance of second bag, so he threw to first and Ebbett was out.

Dick now stepped confidently forward.  He looked at Lehigh’s tired pitcher with a challenging smile.

At the first offer, Prescott struck the leather sphere—–­crack!  In an instant Greg was in motion, while Dick raced as though bent on catching his chum.  The ball had gone out over the head of center, who was now faithfully chasing it across outfield.  Greg came in and hit the plate amid a cyclone of Army enthusiasm.  The band was playing in sheer joy.  Dick kicked second bag, then darted back as he saw the ball drop into the hands of the Lehigh catcher, who promptly sent it spinning straight into the third baseman’s hands.

Then Maitland gained first on called balls, and Furlong did the same, which advanced Prescott to third.