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.