Home > Authors Index > H. Irving Hancock > Dick Prescott's Fourth Year at West Point > This page
Dick Prescott's Fourth Year at West Point, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
||
Chapter 20. The Vivid Finish Of The Game |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XX. THE VIVID FINISH OF THE GAME On both sides of the field, every one was standing on seats. Even the cadets had risen to their feet, every man's eye turned on the diamond, while the cadet cheer-master danced up and down, ready to spring the yell of triumph if only Carter and the player on deck could give the chance. Lieutenant Lawrence wiped his perspiring face and neck. The coach probably suffered more than any other man on the field. It was his work that had prepared for this supreme game of the whole diamond season! Over at third base Cadet Prescott danced cautiously away, yet every now and then stole nearly back. Dick was never going to lose a scored run through carelessness. "Now, good old Carter, can't you?" groaned Durville, as the Army batsman went forward to the plate. "Durry, I'll come home with my shield, or on it," muttered Carter, with set teeth and white lips as he went to pick up the bat that he was to swing. Carter was not one of the best stick men of the Army baseball outfit, but there is sometimes such a thing as batting luck. For this, Carter prayed under his breath. Darrin, of course, was determined to baffle this strong-hope man of West Point. He sent in one of his craftiest outshoots. For a wonder, Carter guessed it, and reached out for it---but missed. "Strike two!" followed almost immediately from the placid's umpire's lips. Everyone who hoped for the Army was trembling now. Dan Dalzell did some urgent signaling. In response, Darrin took an extra hard twist around the leather, unwound, unbent and let go. _Crack_! Batter's luck, and nothing else! "Carter, Carter, Carter!" broke loose from the mouths of half a thousand gray-clad cadets, and the late anxious batter was sprinting for all there was in him. Just to right of center field, and past, went the ball---a good old two-bagger for any player that could run. From third Dick came in at a good jog, but he did not exert himself. He had seen how long it must take to get the ball in circulation. As for Holmes, he hit a faster pace. He turned on steam, just barely touching third as he turned with no thought of letting up this side of the home plate. Lanton made third---he had to, for Carter was bent on kicking the second bag in time. Had there been another full second to spare Carter would have made it. But Navy center field judged that it would be far easier to put Carter out than to play that trick on Lanton, since the latter had but ninety feet to run, anyway. So Carter was out, but Lanton was hanging at third, crazy with eagerness to get in. It all hung on Lanton now. If he got across the home plate in time enough it would give the Army the lead by one run. At this moment the score was tied---three to three! "Get out there and coach Lantin, old ramrod," begged "Durry," and Dick was off, outside of the foul line, his eye on Dave Darrin and on every other living figure of the Navy nine. It was Holden up, now, and, though the cadets on the grandstand looked at Carter briefly, with praise in their eyes for his two-bagger that had meant two runs, the eyes of the young men in gray swiftly roved over by the plate, to keep full track of Holden's performance. But Holden struck out, and Army hopes sank. Tyrrell came in to the plate, and on him hung the last hope. If he failed, Army fans would be near despair. Dave Darrin was beginning to feel the hot pace a bit, for in this inning he had exerted himself more than in any preceding one. However, that was all between Darrin and himself. Not another player on the field guessed how glad Dave would be for the end of the game. Yet he steeled himself, and sent in swift, elusive ones for Tyrrell to hit. Swat! Tyrrell landed a blow against the leather, at the last chance that he had at it. It was a bunt, but Navy's shortstop simply couldn't reach it in time to pick it up without the slightest fumble. That delay brought Lanton home and over the plate. How the plain resounded with cheers! For now the Army led by a single run, and Tyrrell was safe at first. Jackson up, with Beckwith on deck. There was hope of further scoring. Yet no keen disappointment was felt when Jackson struck out. In from pasture trooped the Navy men, eager to retrieve all in the ninth. "Fit to stay in the box, old ramrod?" anxiously asked "Durry," as the nines changed. "Surely," nodded Dick. "Don't stick it out, unless you know you can do the trick," insisted the Army captain earnestly. "I'm just in feather!" smiled Dick. Greg, too, had been a bit anxious; but when the first ball over the plate stung his one unmitted hand, Holmes concluded that Prescott did not need to be helped out of the box just at that time. Then followed something which came so fast that the spectators all but rubbed their eyes. One after another Dick Prescott struck out three Navy batsmen. Greg Holmes made this splendid work perfect by not letting anything pass him. That wound up the game, for Navy had not scored in the ninth, and the rules forbade the Army nine to go again to bat to increase a score that already stood at four to three. Instantly the Academy band broke loose. Yet above it all dinned the cheers of the greater part of the nine thousand spectators present. As soon as the band stopped the corps yell rose, with the names of Durville, Prescott and Holmes, and of Carter whose batting luck had played such a part in the eighth. But, by the time that the corps yell rose the Army nine was nearly off the field. "Listen to the good noise, old ramrod," glowed Greg. "It's the last time we'll ever hear the corps yell for any work we do in West Point athletics," went on Greg mournfully. "I know it," sighed Dick. "If we ever hear cheers for us again, we'll have to win the noise by a gallant charge, or something like that." "In the Army," replied Greg, choking somewhat. "Yes; in the good old Army," went on Dick, his eyes kindling. "I don't feel any uneasiness about getting through the final exams. now. We're as good as second lieutenants already, Holmesy!" While thus chatting, however, the two chums were keeping pace with their comrades of the nine. The nine from Annapolis moved in a compact group a little ahead down the road. Just before the Army ball-tossers reached the dressing quarters, Lieutenant Lawrence, their coach, hastened ahead of them, meeting them in the doorway. "The best nine we've had in a long number of years, gentlemen," glowed coach, as he shook the hand of each in passing. "Thank you all for your splendid, hard work!" Thanks like that was sweet music, after all. But Dick raced to dressing quarters full of but one thing. "Quick, Holmesy! We don't know how soon the Navy team may have to run down the road to a train." "Aren't they going to have supper at the mess?" demanded Greg, as he stripped. "I don't know; I'm afraid not." Dick and Greg were the first of the Army nine to be dressed in their fatigue uniforms. Immediately they made a quick break for the Navy quarters. "It looks almost cheeky to throw ourselves in on the other fellows," muttered Greg dubiously. "Some of the middies will think we've come in on purpose to see how they take their beating." "They didn't get a bad enough beating to need to feel ashamed," replied Dick. "And we won't say a word about the game, anyway." "May we come in?" called Prescott, knocking on the door of the middies' quarters. "Who's there?" called a voice. Then the Navy coach, in uniform, opened the door. "Oh, come in, gentlemen," called the coach, holding out his hand. "And let me congratulate you, Prescott and Holmes, on the very fine game that you two had a star part in putting up for the nine from Crabtown." "Thank you, sir," Dick replied. "But we didn't call on that account. There are two old chums of ours here, sir, that we're looking for." "See anything of them anywhere?" smiled Dave Darrin, stepping forward, minus his blouse and holding out both hands. Dick and Greg pounced upon Dave. Then Dan struggled into another article of clothing and ran forward from the rear of the room. "How soon do you go?" asked Dick eagerly. "The 6.14 train to New York," replied Dave. "Oh, then you're not going to have supper at cadet mess?" asked Greg in a tone of deep disappointment. "No," answered Dan Dalzell. "It would get us through too late. We dine in New York on arrival." "Hurry up and get dressed," Dick urged. Then, turning to the coach, he inquired: "May we keep Darrin and Dalzell with us, sir, until your train leaves?" "No reason on earth why you shouldn't," nodded the Navy coach. So Dave and Dan were dressed in a trice, it seemed, though with the care that a cadet or midshipman must always display in the set of his immaculate uniform. Dick seized Dave by the elbow, marching him forth, while Greg piloted Dan. "Great game for you-----" began Dan, as soon as the quartette of old chums were outside. "Send all that kind of talk by the baggage train," ordered Cadet Holmes. "What we want to talk about are the dear old personal affairs." "You youngsters are through here, after not so many more days, aren't you?" began Darrin. "Yes; and so are you, down at Annapolis," replied Prescott. "Not quite," rejoined Dave gravely. "There's this difference. In a few days you'll be through here, and will proceed to your homes. Then, within the next few days, you'll both receive your commissions as second lieutenants in the Army, and will be ordered to your regiments. You're officers for all time to come! We of the first class at Annapolis will receive our diplomas, surely. But what beyond that? While you become officers at once, we have to start on the two years' cruise, and we're still midshipmen. After two years at sea, we have to come back and take another exam. If we pass that one, then we'll be ensigns---officers at last. But if we fail in the exam, two years hence then we're dropped from the service. After we've gone through our whole course at Annapolis we still have to guess, for two years, whether we're going to be reckoned smart enough to be entitled to serve the United States as officers. I can't feel, Dick, that we of Annapolis, get a square deal." "It doesn't sound like it," Prescott, after a moment, admitted. "Still, you can do nothing about it. And you knew the game when you went to Annapolis." "Yes, I knew all this four years ago," Darrin admitted. "Still, the four years haven't made the deal look any more fair than it did four years ago. However, Dick, hang all kickers and sea-lawyers! Isn't it grand, anyway, to feel that you're in your country's uniform, and that all your active life is to be spent under the good old flag---always working for it, fighting for it if need be!" "Then you still love the service?" asked Dick, turning glowing eyes upon his Annapolis chum. "Love it?" cried Dave. "The word isn't strong enough!" "Are you engaged, old fellow?" asked Greg of Dan Dalzell. "Kind of half way," grinned Dan. "That is, I'm willing, but the girl can't seem to make up her mind. And you?" "I've been engaged nine times in all," sighed Greg. Yet each and every one of the girls soon felt impelled to ask me to call it off." "Any show just at present?" persisted Dalzell. "Why, strange to say," laughed Greg, "I'm fancy free at the present moment." "How did the old affair ever come out between Dick and Laura Bentley?" asked Dan curiously. "Why, the strange part of it is, I don't believe there ever has been any formal affair between Dick and Laura," Greg went on. "That is, no real understanding between them. And now-----" "Yes?" urged Dan. "A merchant over in Gridley, a rather decent chap, too, has been making up to Laura pretty briskly, I hear by way of home news," Greg continued. "Does the yardstick general win out?" demanded Dan. "From all the news, I'm half afraid he does." "How does Dick take that?" Dan was eager to know. "I can't tell you," Greg responded solemnly, "for I have never ventured on that topic with old ramrod. But if he loses out with Laura, I feel it in my bones that he'll take it mighty hard." "Poor old Dick!" sighed Dan, loyal to the old days. "Somehow, I can't quite get it through my head that it's at all right for anyone to withhold from Dick Prescott anything he really wants." Greg sighed too. "Any idea what arm of the service you're going to choose?" asked Dan presently. "I believe I'll do better to wait and see what my class standing is at graduation," laughed Greg. "That is the thing that settles how much choice I'm to have in the matter of arm of the service." "Any liking for heavy artillery?" asked Dan. "Not a whit. Cavalry or infantry for mine." "Not the engineers?" "Only the honor men of the class can get into the engineers," grunted Greg. "Neither Dick nor I stand any show to be honor men. We feel lucky enough to get through the course and graduate at all." Dick and Dave, too, were talking earnestly about the future, though now and then a word was dropped about the good old past, as described in the _High School Boys' Series_. Ten minutes before the train time two chums in Army gray and two in Navy blue reached the platform of the railway station. The other middies were there ahead of them. In the time that was left Dick and Greg were hastily introduced to the other middies. A few jolly words there were, but the other members of the Army nine and still other cadets were on hand, and so the talk was general. Amid noisy, heartfelt cheering the middy delegation climbed aboard the incoming train. Amid more cheers their train bore them away and then some sixty West Point cadets climbed the long, steep road, next hastening on to be in time for supper formation. For the members of the first class West Point athletics had now become a matter of history only! _ |
||