To all outward appearances Prescott was as selfpossessed and contented as ever he had been while at the Military Academy.
Now, Army baseball was the topic.

The nine and other members of the baseball squad were practising in earnest.

Durville had been chosen to captain the nine.
Though there was some mighty good material in the nine, neither the coaches nor Durville were wholly satisfied.
"Holmesy," broached Durville plaintively one day, "you play a grand game of football." "Thank you," replied Greg, with a pretense of mock modesty; "I know it." "And you must play a great game of ball, too." "I did once---pardon these blushes.

Dick Prescott was my old trainer in baseball." "Oh, bother Prescott! We can't have him." "I don't play well without him," remarked Greg blandly.
"Come over to practice this afternoon, won't you ?" "Yes; but I don't believe I'll try for the nine." "Come over and let us see your style, any way." Greg turned up late that afternoon for practice.

What he showed the captain and coaches had them fairly "rattled" with desire to slip Greg into the nine.
"I'm much obliged to you all," Greg insisted gently, "but I told you I wasn't going to try for the nine.