"Danny never went into anything that he didn't try to win by scaring the other side cold.

If our instructors here know what they're talking about, hot air isn't necessarily fatal to the enemy." "I can tell you one thing, anyway," chipped in Dan, while the other three grinned indulgently at him.
"Yes; you have it straight that this is to be the Army's game," mocked Greg.

"But we knew that before we saw you to-day." "There goes our joy-killer," grunted Prescott, as the umpire's shrill whistle sounded in.

"Dave, we'll be in the Navy's dressing room just as soon as-----" "Just as soon as this cruel war is over," hummed Dan.
The toss having been won by the Navy, the captain of that nine had chosen to go to bat.
Now the players on both sides were scattering swiftly to their posts.
Dick took but a bound or two back to the box, just as the umpire broke the package around the new ball and tossed it to the Army pitcher.
"Play ball!" It was on, with a rush, and a cheer, led by some eight measures of music from the Military Academy Band, which had been quiet for a few minutes.
Then the cheer settled down, for Prescott found himself facing Dan Dalzell at the bat, with Darrin on deck.
"Wipe 'em!" signaled Greg's antics.
Now, to "wipe" Dalzell, who had known everyone of Dick's old curves and tricks in former days, did not look like a promising task, for Dalzell, in addition to his special knowledge about this pitcher, was an expert with the bat.

But there might be a chance to put Dan on the mourner's bench.