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.