"But
for Darry and his splendid interference the Army would get our
scalp yet. Darry looks to be all right, and I believe he is.
He'll hold out for the fourth."
Eight to two, and the game three quarters finished. The Army
cheermaster did his duty, but did it half dejectedly, the cadets
following with rolling volumes of noise intended to mask sinking
hearts. When it came the Navy's turn to yell, the midshipmen
risked the safety of their windpipes. The Naval Academy Band
was playing with unwonted joy.
"Fellows, nothing on earth will save us but a touchdown and a
kick," called Douglass desperately, when he got his West Point
men aside. "That will tie the score. It's our best chance to-day."
"Unless, suh," gravely observed Anstey, "We can follow that by
driving the midshipmen into a safety."
"And we could do even that, if we had Prescott and Holmesy here,"
thought Douglass, with sinking heart to himself. He was careful
not to repeat that sentiment audibly.
"Holmesy ought to be here to-day, and working," growled one of
the Army subs. "He's a sneak, just to desert on Mr. Prescott's
account."
"None of that!" called Doug sharply.
The Army head coach came along, talking quietly but forcefully
to the all but discouraged cadets. Then he addressed himself
to Douglass, explaining what he thought were next to the weakest
points in the Navy line.
"You ought to be able to save the score yet, Mr.
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