"Then do you imagine that the West Point men are any more lax in
their views of corps honor?" pressed Dave.
"To be sure they are not---they can't be."
"Then there's only a chance in a thousand that Dick Prescott will,
by any lucky accident, be restored to favor in the corps---at
least, in time to play on this year's eleven. If he doesn't play,
Holmes simply won't play. So that takes all the interest out of
this year's Army-navy game."
"Not if the Navy wins," contended Midshipman Page.
"Bosh, there's neither profit nor honor in the Navy winning, unless
it's against the best men that the Army can put forth," retorted
Dave Darrin stubbornly. "By the great Dewey, I'm afraid nine
tenths of my enthusiasm for the game this year has been killed by
the miserable news that has come in."
Within less than five minutes after the midshipmen had seated
themselves around the scores of tables in the mess hall, the news
had flown around that Prescott and Holmes were to be counted as
out of the Army eleven for this year.
Here and there suppressed cheers greeted the announcement The
bulk of the midshipmen, however, were much of Dave Darrin's opinion
that there was little glory in beating less than the best team
that the Army could really put forth.
"Darry looks as though he had just got back from a funeral," remarked
one member of the third class to another youngster.
"I don't blame him," replied the one so addressed.
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