Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point by H. Irving Hancock (ereader with android .txt) 📕

And all Chaplain Montgomery had to say to Cadet Prescott was to tell him in which bound file of a magazine at the Y.M.C.A. could be found an article about which Dick had asked the churchman a fortnight before.

Dick returned thanks, though he meant no disrespect to the kindly chaplain. Then, saluting, he hurried on after the detachment.

But more than a fatal minute had been lost at the sally-port, and now the detachment was dismissed. The men had been in their rooms for at least forty-five seconds.

"No use to go to Dodge now!" thought Dick despondently. "Whether he knows that I saw that cuff or not, he has removed it and has it safely hidden by this time. Oh, if Chaplain Montgomery could have been a hundred yards further away at that moment!"

It was no use to lament. Dick concluded to wait and bide his time. The chance might yet come to catch Bert Dodge red handed.

"Though, if he suspects that I saw his exposed cuff, he'll take pains that there is not further chance!" decided Cadet Prescott.

After that he went to his room, where he told Greg what he had discovered.

"It's suspicious—-mightily so," declared Holmes. "But it isn't proof—-not yet!"

Nevertheless, Greg, once he had heard, could not get the matter out of his mind either!

"Dick, old fellow, this is going to be a Gridley day for us!
It will carry us back to the good old High School days!"

Cadet Greg Holmes was radiant as he moved about their room in quarters that Saturday morning while preparing for the call to breakfast formation.

Until one o'clock these young men of West Point would be busy in the section rooms, as on other week days. But the afternoon of Saturday belonged to pleasure—-on this Saturday to sport!

Lehigh University was sending over the strongest baseball nine it could put up, in the effort to beat West Point on the Military Academy's diamond.

"It'll seem just like good old Gridley High School days," repeated
Greg.

"Yes," smiled Dick darkly, "with the same rascal, Bert Dodge, to keep my thoughts going."

"Dodge won't be in the game, anyway."

"He wasn't much in Gridley, either," smiled Dick darkly.

"Oh, well, forget him until the game is over."

Morning recitations passed off as usual. It was when the cadets came back from dinner,

First, there was a brief inspection, after which cadets, with leave to visit the West Point Hotel, or officers' homes, strolled away to meet young women friends.

"I'm due to be only a rooter today," sigh Greg, as he saw his roommate start off to the gym to meet the other members of the nine.

"Your luck may change," rejoined Dick. "You'd better go along to the gym. You're the sub. shortstop, you know, and Meacham may not be on deck. Better come along, now."

"I will, then; I wasn't going over until just before time to get into togs and sit on the bench."

Up to this time, neither Prescott nor Holmes had judged their academic standing to be good enough to make it safe for them to enter into sports. This winter and spring, however, had found them "safe" enough for them to go into training with the baseball squad.

Dick had tried for the position of pitcher, but Kennedy had been chosen, while Prescott had gone to second base. Tatham was the sub. pitcher.

"Say, have you seen the Lehighs?" demanded Furlong, as the chums joined the crowd at the gym. "They're big fellows. They weigh a ton and a half to our ton."

"Lightness and speed count for more than beef in this game," smiled
Prescott.

"Lehigh has sent some huskies, all right, and they look as if they'd give us a tough battle."

In baseball and football West Point plays college teams. The college men are generally older and much heavier. Besides, the college men, not having the same intense grind at their institutions, are able to devote four or five times as much actual time to the work of training.

Despite these handicaps, the West Point team generally holds its own end up very well indeed. The West Point men have one advantage; they are always in training, for which reason their bodily condition is always good. It is in the finer points of the technique of the game that the United States military cadets suffer from less practice.

Maitland, of the second class, was captain of the team this year.
He was a much disturbed man when Dick and Greg reached the gym.

"What ails Maitland?" Dick asked Furlong.

"Haven't you heard? Kennedy is a great tosser, but he has his bad days when his wrist goes stale. And Tatham, the sub., fought his way through a poor dinner, but then he had to give up and go to hospital. He's threatened with some kind of fever, we hear. That leaves us without a sub. today."

"Oh, does it?" thought Prescott. With quick step and eager eye he sought Captain Maitland, who was also catcher for the nine.

"Mr. Maitland, I understand you're without a satisfactory sub. pitcher for today?"

"Confound it, yes; we're praying for the strength of Kennedy's wrist."

"You may remember that I tried for pitcher."

"I know you did," replied Maitland gloomily. "But the coaches thought Kennedy and Tatham ahead of you."

"If Kennedy should go bad today," pressed Dick eagerly, "I trust you will be willing order me in from second to the box. I know that I won't disappoint you. Ebbett and Dunstan are both good men at second."

Captain Maitland looked thoughtful.

"I'm afraid, Prescott, if Kennedy does happen to go stale, we'll have to call on you."

"I won't disappoint you, if you do, Captain!"

Then Maitland turned to regard Meacham, who was entering at that moment.

"What on earth ails you, Meacham?" demanded the worried captain of the nine.

"I was at a loot party last night," confessed Meacham miserably.

"Overeating yourself—-when you're in training, man?"

"Honestly, Maitland, I didn't believe the little that I put down was going to throw me. There wasn't a murmur until eleven this morning, and I felt sure that was going to work off. But it won't, and, oh, my!"

West Point's shortstop put his hands over his belt line, looking comically miserable. But to Captain Maitland there was no humor in the situation.

"You're a fine one!" growled Maitland. "Oh, Holmesy! Come over here, please. You haven't been teasing your stomach, have you?"

"I don't know that I have a stomach," replied Greg promptly.

"You'll play shortstop today, then."

Half an hour later, the Lehigh fellows were out on the field, going through some practice plays. Below the center of the grandstand, the West Point band was playing its most spirited music. The seats reserved for officers and their families, and for invited guests, were filling up rapidly. At the smaller stand, over at the east side of the field, Lehigh had some two hundred friends and rooters.

Now on to the field marched the corps of cadets, filing into the seats reserved for them, just north of the officers' seats.

Now, the band began to play the U.S.M.A. songs, the cadets joining in under the leadership of the cheer-master.

Then, amid a storm of West Point yells, the Army nine strode on to the field. Things moved quickly now. Lehigh won the toss and went to bat.

Kennedy appeared to be in excellent form. He struck out the first two Lehigh men at bat. The third man, however, gained first on called balls. The fourth man at bat drove a two-bagger, and now second and third were occupied. As the fifth of the Lehigh batsmen stepped up to the plate, the Lehigh cheers resounded, and West Point's rooters sat in tense silence. What was the matter with Kennedy? But the Army pitcher struck out his man, and Lehigh went out to grass without having scored. Lehigh's revenge, though, was swift. Three West Point men were struck out almost as rapidly as they could move to the plate.

In the second inning both sides got men to bases, but neither side scored. In the third Lehigh took one solitary run, but it looked well on the score-board at the north end of the field. West Point, in the last half of the third, put men on first and second, but that was all.

By the fourth inning, Kennedy was pitching a bit wildly. Maitland gazed at his comrade of the battery with anxious eyes. Lehigh began to grin with the ease of the thing now. One after another men walked to bases on called balls, until all of the bags were occupied.

Suddenly Kennedy, after taking a twist on the ball, signaled Maitland.
The captain turned the umpire and spoke.

"Kennedy's old trick! He's gone stale and Tatham is down at hospital," passed from mouth to mouth among the home rooters. "Now, what's left for us?"

After a brief conversation with the umpire Maitland signaled. Dick Prescott came bounding in from second, to receive the ball from Kennedy, while Ebbett was seen racing out to second.

"Play ball!" called the umpire crisply.

"Oh, pshaw!" called one of the cadets. "In training season Prescott tried for pitcher and the coaches turned him down. Now we're done for today!"

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