Part 1 (2/2)

Crozier, the deposed quarter-back, was being led off by Professor Beck.

The boy was pale of face and trembling with weariness, and one foot dragged itself after the other limply. But he was protesting with tears in his eyes against being laid off, and even the hearty cheers for him that thundered from the stand did not comfort him. Then the game went on, the tide of battle flowing slowly, steadily, toward the Crimson's goal.

”If only they don't score again!” said Gardiner.

”That's the best we can hope for,” said Professor Beck.

”Yes; it's turned out worse than I expected.”

”Well, you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that they've played as plucky a game against odds as I ever expect to see,” answered the other. ”And we won't say die yet; there's still”--he looked at his watch--there's still eight minutes.”

”That's good; I hope Decker will remember what I told him about runs outside right tackle,” muttered Gardiner anxiously. Then he relighted his pipe and, with stolid face, watched events.

St. Eustace was still hammering Hillton's line at the wings. Time and again the Blue's big full-back plunged through between guard and tackle, now on this side, now on that, and Hillton's line ever gave back and back, slowly, stubbornly, but surely.

”First down,” cried the referee. ”Five yards to gain.”

The pigskin now lay just midway between Hillton's ten-and fifteen-yard lines. Decker, the subst.i.tute quarter-back, danced about under the goal-posts.

”Now get through and break it up, fellows!” he shouted. ”Get through!

Get through!”

But the crimson-clad line men were powerless to withstand the terrific plunges of the foe, and back once more they went, and yet again, and the ball was on the six-yard line, placed there by two plunges at right tackle.

”First down!” cried the referee again.

Then Hillton's cup of sorrow seemed overflowing. For on the next play the umpire's whistle shrilled, and half the distance to the goal-line was paced off. Hillton was penalized for holding, and the ball was on her three yards!

From the section of the grand stand where the crimson flags waved came steady, entreating, the wailing slogan:

”_Hold, Hillton! Hold, Hillton! Hold, Hillton!_”

Near at hand, on the side-line, Gardiner ground his teeth on the stem of his pipe and watched with expressionless face. Professor Beck, at his side, frowned anxiously.

”Put it over, now!” cried the St. Eustace captain. ”Tear them up, fellows!”

The quarter gave the signal, the two lines smashed together, and the whistle sounded. The ball had advanced less than a yard. The Hillton stand cheered hoa.r.s.ely, madly.

”Line up! Line up!” cried the Blue's quarter. ”Signal!”

Then it was that St. Eustace made her fatal mistake. With the memory of the delayed pa.s.s which had won St. Eustace her previous touch-down in mind, the Hillton quarter-back was on the watch.

The ball went back, was lost to view, the lines heaved and strained.

Decker shot to the left, and as he reached the end of the line the St.

Eustace left half-back came plunging out of the throng, the ball snuggled against his stomach. Decker, just how he never knew, squirmed past the single interferer, and tackled the runner firmly about the hips. The two went down together on the seven yards, the blue-stockinged youth vainly striving to squirm nearer to the line, Decker holding for all he was worth. Then the Hillton left end sat down suddenly on the runner's head and the whistle blew.

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