ck the ball from
the turf before he could swing at it. That delay was almost his undoing,
since the Benton forwards were now trickling through, and it was only by
the veriest good fortune that the ball shot between them from Rollins's
toe and, after showing an inclination to pass to the left of the goal
and changing its mind in mid-air, dropped over the bar barely inside the
post. Brimfield cheered and the 3 on the board changed to 6. Coach Robey
called Rollins and Tim Otis out, replacing them with Martin and Gordon.
Brimfield kicked off once more and, with a scant minute and a half to
play, the Maroon-and-Grey tried valiantly to add another score.

Carmine caught on his twenty and took the ball to the thirty-six before
he was stopped, and Brimfield cheered wildly and danced about in the
stand. Plugging the line would never cover that distance to the farther
goal line and so Carmine sent Gordon off around the left end. But Gordon
couldn't find the hole and was run down for no gain. A forward pass,
Carmine to Compton, laid the ball on the forty-eight yards. Howard slid
off right tackle for six and, on a fake-kick play, Martin ran around
left end for seven more. Brimfield shouted imploringly from the stand
and, across the field, Benton cheered incessantly, doggedly, longing for
the whistle.

The Benton team used all allowable methods to waste time. The timekeeper
hovered nearby, his eyes darting from the galloping hand of his watch to
the players. "Twenty-nine seconds," he responded to Tom Hall's question.
Carmine clapped his hands impatiently.

"Signals now! Make this good! Left tackle over! 27--57--88--16! Hep!
27--57--88----"

The backs swung obliquely to the right, Carmine dropped from sight, his
back to the line, Benton's left side was borne slowly away, fighting
hard, and confusion reigned. Then Carmine whirled around, sprang,
doubled over, through the scattered right side of the enemy's line,
challenged only by the end, who made a desperate attempt at a tackle but
failed, and, with only the opposing quarter between him and the goal
line, raced like the wind. About him was a roaring babel of sound,
voices urging him on, shouts of dismay, imploring shrieks from behind.
Then the quarter was before him, crouching with out-reached hands, a
strained, anxious look on his dirt-streaked face.

They met near the twenty-yard line. The Benton quarter launched himself
forward. Carmine swung to the left and leaped. A hand g