WHEN THE ARMY FANS WINCED As Darrin sent in the third ball Beckwith made a desperate sweep for it.

It was not to be his, however.
"Three strikes! Striker out!" That broad grin had come back to Dan Dalzell's face, as he held up the neatly mitted ball for an instant, then hurled it lazily back to Dave Darrin.
Now, Durville came to bat, and the captain of the Army nine was an accurate and hard hitter.
"Ball one!" "Strike one!" "Strike two!" "Ball two!" Then came a slight swish of willow against leather.

Durville had at last succeeded in just touching the ball.

But it was a foul hit, and that was all.

Dan, however, was not out at the side in time to pick that foul into his own mitten.
Durville, his face somewhat pale and teeth clenched, stood ready for his last chance.