It came, in one of Darrin's trickiest throws.
It was no use, after all.

Durville missed, and Dalzell didn't.
"Strike three---striker out!" "Prescott, you know that Navy fellow! Go after him---hammer him all the way down the river!" groaned Durville in a low voice as Dick came forward.
Dan's quick ears heard, however, and his grin broadened.

Well enough Dalzell knew that Darrin had a lot of box tricks secreted that would fool even a Prescott.
But Dick was not to be rattled, at any rate.

He picked up the bat, "hefted" it briefly, then stepped up beside the plate, ready in a few seconds after Durville had gone disconsolately back to the bench.
"I won't try to decipher Dave's deliveries; I'll judge them by what they look like after the ball has started," swiftly decided Prescott.
"Ball one!" "Ball two!" "Strike one!" "Strike two!" "Crack!" So fast did Prescott start when that fly popped, that he was nearly half way to first base when he dropped his bat.

It was only a fly out to right field, but it was a swift one, and it struck turf before the Navy fielder could hoof it to the spot.