FINDING THE BASEBALL GAIT
"Morning, old ramrod!"
Never had greeting a sweeter sound than when Dick strolled about in
the quadrangle after breakfast the next morning.
Scores who, for months, had looked straight past Prescott when
meeting him, now stopped to speak, or else nodded in a friendly
manner.
Twenty minutes later, the sections were marching off into the
academic building, in the never-ceasing grind of recitations.
"Prescott," declared Durville, during the after-dinner recreation
period, "we want you to come around to show what you can do at
baseball. We've some good, armor-proof material for the squad,
but we need a lot more. And we want Holmesy, too. Bring him
around with you, won't you?"
"If he'll come," nodded Dick.
"He must come. But you'll hold yourself ready, anyway, won't you?"
"I'd hate to go in without Greg," replied Dick. "He and I generally
work together in anything we attempt."
"That was just the kick Holmesy made when you---when things were
different," corrected the captain of the Army nine hastily.
"Well, you see, 'Durry,' we were always chums back in the good old
High School days. We always played together, then, in any game,
and either of us would feel lonesome now without the other."
"Oh, of course," nodded Durville. "Well, I'll see Holmesy and
try to round him up, if you say so."
"I think I can get him to come around," smiled Dick. "But you
may be tremendously disappointed in both of us."
"Can you play ball as well as Holmesy?"
"Perhaps; nearly, I guess."
"Then we surely do need you both, for we've seen Holmesy toy with
the ball, and we know where he'd rate. Do you think you play
baseball at the same gait that you do football, old ramrod?"
"I think it's possible that I do," Dick half admitted slowly.
"Always modest, aren't you?" laughed "Durry" good humoredly.
"Somehow, Prescott, it seems almost impossible to think of you
heading a charge, or graduating number one in your class. You'd
be too much afraid that someone else wanted either honor."
Prescott laughed good humoredly. Then, dropping his voice, he
went on very gravely:
"Durry, you've behaved very nicely to me in more ways than one,
after that time when I necessarily reported you. Are you sure
that you wholly overlooked my act."
"Glad you asked me, Prescott. I've come to realize that you did
your full duty, and the only thing you could do as the captain
of my company. But I was terribly upset that night. Nothing but
a matter of the first importance would ever have driven me to slip
into 'cits.' and sneak off the post in that fashion."
"I can quite believe that," nodded Dick.
"Well, it---it was a girl, of course," confessed "Durry."
"You know, cadets have a habit of being interested in girls, and
this girl means everything to me. She's up in Newburgh, and was
ill. I thought she was more ill than she really was. But I knew
that I could hardly get official permission to go and see her,
so---so I chanced it and went without leave. I wouldn't have
done such a thing under any other circumstances."
"Did the young lady recover?" asked Prescott with deep interest.
"Oh, yes; I dragged her to the hop the other night. She was stepping
around the hall with another fellow, for one of the dances, and
that was how I came to be out in the air alone. But I'll look
for both you and Holmesy at practice this afternoon," ended "Durry,"
hastening away.
"Go to a diamond try-out?" asked Greg when Dick broached the subject.
"Of course I will, and crazy over the chance. All that has held me
back so far, old ramrod, was the fact that you hadn't been invited.
But now that has all been changed."
When the diamond squad reported, Lieutenant Lawrence, the head
baseball coach, ordered the young men outdoors to the field.
"Come over here, please, Prescott and Holmes," called the coach,
who had been conferring in low tones with "Durry."
"What positions do you two feel that you would be at your best in?"
"Why, we have conceit enough, sir, to think that we might make
at least a half-way battery," smiled Dick.
"Battery, eh?" repeated Lieutenant Lawrence. "Good enough! Get
out and do it. Durville, you're one of the real batsmen. Run
out there to the home plate, and see whether Prescott and Holmes
can put anything past you."
How good it felt to be in field clothes again! And both Greg
and Dick wore on the breasts of their sweaters the Army "A," won
by making the football eleven the year before.
Dick fingered the ball carefully while Greg was trotting away
to place behind the home plate. Lieutenant Lawrence went more
deliberately, but took his place where the umpire would have stood
in a game.
"What kind of a ball do you like best, Durry?" asked Prescott,
smilingly.
"A medium slow one, close to the end of the stick, about here,"
replied Durville.
"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.
Greg had signaled for what had once been one of his chum's best---a
modification of the "jump ball" that had cost this young pitcher
much hard study and arm-strain.
As Dick stood ready to let go of the ball he seemed inclined to
dawdle over it. It wasn't going to be one of his snappiest---any
onlooker could judge that, at least, so it seemed.
Even Durville was fooled, though he did not let up much in the way
of alertness.
Now the ball came on, with not much speed or steam behind it.
Durville took a good look, made some calculation for possible
deception, then made his swing with the stick.
Slightly forward Durville had to bend, in order to get low enough
to make the crack.
As his bat swished half lazily through the air, Durville "ducked"
suddenly, for the upbounding ball had gone so close to his ear
as to seem bent on removing some of the skin off that member.
Greg, who had been stooping, was up in time to mit the ball.
Then Durville, his face flushing, heard Holmes chuckle.
"One or two more, if you like, sir," called Dick, facing the coach.
"But I think, sir, I'd better be in finer trim before I do too
much tossing in one afternoon."
"You've done enough, Prescott," cried Lieutenant Lawrence, stepping
forward and resting one hand cordially on Dick's shoulder.
"Train with us for a fortnight, and you'll take all the hide off
of the Navy's mascot goat."
There was a laugh from the members of the squad who stood within
hearing. But, as Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes walked over to
the side of the field they were greeted by a cheer from all who
had watched their performance.
"I'm very glad you asked for a further trial for Prescott," murmured
Lieutenant Lawrence to the captain of the Army nine.
"I thought you would be, sir," Durville replied.
"We have a line-up, after these two men have been trained into
shape, that will make one of the strongest Army nines in a generation."
"We'd have tanned the Navy last year, sir," ventured Durville, "if
we had known what material we had in Prescott and Holmes, and had
been able to get them out."
At cadet mess that evening the talk ran high with joy. West Point
was sure it had found its baseball gait!