Weston was called on to go in and replace Joe, and the former ’varsity pitcher, in spite of his feeling against our hero, had that in him which made him do his best in spite of the odds against him.
Weston was half hoping that the game would be a tie, which would give him a chance to go on the mound and show what he could do at pitching against a formidable opponent of Yale. But it was not to be, though he brought in one of the winning runs for the New Haven bulldog.
The crowd went wild when they saw what a game fight the visitors were putting up, and even the supporters of the army lads hailed them with delight as they pounded the cadet pitcher, for everyone likes to see a good play, no matter if it is made by the other side.
“Oh, wow! A pretty hit!” yelled the throng as Weston sent a two-bagger well out in the field. His face flushed with pleasure, as he speeded around, and, probably, had he been taken in hand then, subsequent events might not have happened, for his unreasonable hatred against Joe might have been dissipated. But no one did, and the result was that Weston felt he had been wrongly treated, and he resolved to get even.
“Well played, boys, well played!” exclaimed the captain of the cadets, as he came up to shake hands with Hatfield. “You did us up good and proper. We can’t buck such a pitcher as you have. What happened to him!”
“Sprained arm,” explained Spike, who stood near.
“Too bad! Tell him to take care of it,” rejoined the cadet. “Such twirlers as he is are few and far between. Well, you beat us, but that’s no reason why you can do it again. We’ll have your scalps next year. Now, boys, altogether! Show ’em how West Pointers can yell.”
The cheer for the Yale team broke out in a gladsome yell, tinged with regret, perhaps, for West Point had been sure of winning, especially toward the end, but there was no ill-feeling showing in the cries that echoed over the field.
In turn the New Haven bulldog barked his admiration of the gallant opponents, and then came a special cheer for Joe Matson, whose plucky play had made it possible for Yale to win.
Joe, in the dressing room, heard his name, and flushed with delight. Trainer McLeary was rubbing his sore arm.