CHAPTER XXXIV

THE GAME

With a mighty swing of his foot Snail Looper sent the ball well into Boxer territory. Lamson, their right half-back, caught it in his arms, and, with a good defense, began to rush back with it. Over the chalk-marks he came, but Tom Parsons was rushing toward him, and dodging through the intervening players he made a vicious tackle, bringing Lamson to the ground with a thud on Boxer's thirty-eight-yard line. There was a quick line-up, and Stoddard, the full-back, made a good try to encircle Joe Jackson at right end. But the Jersey twin and his mates piled up on the mass of Boxer players with such good effect that hardly three yards were gained; and at this showing of the defense of Randall a punt was decided on.

Pinstock, Boxer's left half-back, made a magnificent drive, and Holly Cross had to skip nimbly back to catch it. But once he had the pigskin in his grasp he eluded the Boxer ends, and was well toward the center of the field before he was downed.

"Our ball!" cried Tom gleefully, and then there came the chance for Randall to show what she could do.

"Signal!" cried Phil, and his companions wondered at the odd note that had crept into his voice. It was not of the confident style of orders that the quarter-back was wont to give. But, as the string of numbers and letters came rattling out, Phil, in a measure, recovered control of himself. He gave the word for Kindlings to take the ball at Boxer's left-end, and smash! into the line went the brawny right half-back. He gained ten yards so quickly that Boxer Hall was fairly stunned, and when Holly Cross ripped out eight yards additional the crowd of Randall supporters were in a mad frenzy of delirious joy.

"Swat 'em! Swat 'em! We have got 'em!" howled Bean Perkins, and forth from hundreds of throats came booming that song.

Grasshopper Backus and Dutch Housenlager opened a great hole between their opposite guard and tackle, and into this breach Jerry Jackson was pulled and hurled for several yards, until he fell under a crushing weight of husky players at Boxer's thirty-yard-line. Once more Phil's voice sang out in a signal, and back he snapped the ball to Holly Cross, who, like some human battering ram, went through for five yards more. It looked as if Randall was going right down the field for a touch-down, and Bean Perkins and his cohorts rendered the "Down the Line" song with good effect.

A touch-down might have resulted from the next play, but unfortunately for Randall Jerry Jackson made a fumble, and in their anxiety several of his mates held in the line. There was a prompt penalty enforced, and back to the forty-yard line the pigskin was taken, where it was turned over to Randall for another try. Randall's hard work had not gained her much, and there was an ominous silence on the part of the cheering throng. Once more came rushing tactics, and they succeeded so well that in two downs the ball was carried to Boxer's thirty-yard line. Then Holly Cross decided to try for a field goal, but the wind carried it to one side, and his mates groaned. So did Bean Perkins and his comrades.

"Isn't that a shame!" exclaimed Madge Tyler to Ruth Clinton.

"Hush, Madge!" answered Ruth. "I want to watch the game. I can't talk. I want to see what Phil does. I'm afraid he'll be hurt."

"Aren't you worried about Tom Parsons, too?"

"Yes--of course. Aren't you?"

"Not so much."

Ruth looked at her friend sharply, but there was no time for further talk, as Boxer had brought out the ball to their twenty-five-yard line, and elected to line up with it instead of punting. At Randall's line they came, smashing with terrific force, but so well did Holly and his players hold that only four yards were made. Another attempt brought even less gain, and then Boxer had to kick. Kindlings saw the ball coming toward him, and managed by a desperate effort, to get it in his arms. Back he rushed to the forty-three-yard line, where he fell under a human mountain.

The first play tried by Randall after this was a forward pass, and the ball went out of bounds. Holly Cross kicked a twisting punt, and when Lamson, the Boxer right half, caught it, Tom Parsons downed him almost in his tracks, so swiftly did the left-end get down under the kick.

"Go through 'em!" implored Captain Stoddard to his men, and at the line they came smashing with crushing force. For the first time since the play had begun Randall seemed to give way. Holes were torn in her line, and through the openings the backs came rushing. They had gained fifteen yards, in almost as good style as had Randall in the initial play, when they varied the smashing work by a try around Tom's end. But he was alert, and got his man in the nick of time. Another try at center failed to result in a gain, and Boxer Hall had to kick.

Jerry Jackson rushed the ball back for a good distance, and then, with a fierceness that the Boxer Hall lads could not seem to withstand, Randall came at their line, going through for substantial gains on every try.

"That's the stuff! That's the stuff!" cried Dutch Housenlager during a breathing spell, when one of the Boxer Hall players had to be walked about to recover his wind. "Eh, Phil? Aren't we putting it all over them?"

"I--I guess so," answered Phil, and he passed his hand over his head as if he was dazed.

"Somebody hit you?" asked Tom, blaming himself for not having kept a closer watch over his chum.

"No--no; I'm all right."

The injured player limped back into line, and the game went on. Smash! bang! came the Randall players, and they went up to the ten-yard line with scarcely a stop. In vain did the cohorts of Boxer Hall implore them to brace. It seemed that they could not. But, just as it looked for all the world as if the ball would be carried over by Holly Cross, for it was decided to smash through and not kick, the brace did come, and the Randall players had to give up the pigskin. In a jiffy Captain Stoddard had punted out of danger. There was an exchange of kicks, and it ended with Boxer getting the ball on her forty-yard line.

Then, all at once, a new spirit seemed infused into her players. They came at Randall with a viciousness that argued well for their spirit. It was rough work, not noticeable, perhaps, but Tom felt that what he feared was about to happen; that some plan was afoot to injure Phil. He played in as far as he dared, but the opposite end was constantly drawing him out.

At the line came Lamson, the Boxer right-half. He ripped out five yards, bowling over Sam Looper with such force that the Snail had to have a little medical treatment. He barely recovered in the two minutes, and was a bit wobbly when the attack was again directed at him. But Holly Cross and Jerry Jackson leaped in to his aid, and stopped the advance. Then Boxer went around right-end, and had ten yards before they were stopped. The game looked to be going the other way now, and there were strained looks on the faces of the Randall players and their supporters. As for the cheering contingent of Boxer Hall, they made the air ring with their song: "It's Time We Did a Little Business Now!"

"Don't let 'em get through you. Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" cried Holly. "Brace up, boys!"

Randall tried to, but Boxer had found a weak place between Snail Looper and Grasshopper Backus, and kept hammering away at it, until they had advanced the ball to the fifteen-yard line. Then Boxer Hall played a neat trick. There was every indication that a try for a field goal was about to be made, and Holly Cross got back. Instead, there was a double pass, and a play between tackle and right-end. Through the Randall line burst Frothon, the right-tackle, with the ball tucked under his arm. Holly Cross saw him just in time, and made a dive for him. But the Randall full-back's foot slipped, and he went down, making a vain grab for Frothon, who sped on, and planted the ball behind the goal posts. Boxer Hall had made the first touch-down, and the crowd of supporters went wild, while there was corresponding gloom on the grandstands where Randallites were gathered. The goal was missed, and a scrimmage had hardly begun after the next kick-off before the whistle blew. The half was up.

What a buzz of excitement there was in the grandstands! Every one seemed talking at once.

"That was hard lines," remarked Ford Fenton to Sid, next to whom he was sitting. "If our fellows had only been a little quicker then, this would never have happened. My uncle says----"

"Fenton!" exclaimed Sid so fiercely that Ford almost turned pale, "if you mention 'uncle' again during this game, I'll throw you off the grandstand," and, as Fenton was rather high up, he concluded to keep quiet.