At this moment the score was tied---three to three! "Get out there and coach Lantin, old ramrod," begged "Durry," and Dick was off, outside of the foul line, his eye on Dave Darrin and on every other living figure of the Navy nine.
It was Holden up, now, and, though the cadets on the grandstand looked at Carter briefly, with praise in their eyes for his two-bagger that had meant two runs, the eyes of the young men in gray swiftly roved over by the plate, to keep full track of Holden's performance.
But Holden struck out, and Army hopes sank.

Tyrrell came in to the plate, and on him hung the last hope.

If he failed, Army fans would be near despair.
Dave Darrin was beginning to feel the hot pace a bit, for in this inning he had exerted himself more than in any preceding one.
However, that was all between Darrin and himself.

Not another player on the field guessed how glad Dave would be for the end of the game.

Yet he steeled himself, and sent in swift, elusive ones for Tyrrell to hit.
Swat! Tyrrell landed a blow against the leather, at the last chance that he had at it.