ckfield men skirmishing anxiously about behind it. "Push 'em
back, Claflin! You can do it! Don't give 'em an inch! Stop 'em right
here, fellows! Low, low, get _low_, you fellows! Charge into 'em and
smother this play!" The Claflin quarter, pale of face, thumped crouching
backs and watched the foe intently.

"Put it over now!" shrilled Carmine. "Here we go! Get down there, Hall!
Signals!"

Rollins leaped forward, took the ball from Carmine and smashed straight
ahead. There was a moment of doubt. His plunging body stopped, went on,
stopped, was borne back.

"Second down! Two and a half to go!"

Again the signals, the line shifted, Claflin changed to meet the shift.
St. Clair slewed across and slammed past the Claflin left tackle. But
the secondary defence had him in the next instant and he was thrust,
fighting, back and still back. But he had gained. "A yard and a half!"
proclaimed the referee.

"You've got to do it, Brimfield!" shouted Edwards intensely. "Don't let
them get the jump on you like that! Get into it, Crewe! Watch that man,
Gilbert! Come on now! Put it over!"

"Signals!" shrieked Carmine. "Make it go this time! Over with it!"

Back went Rollins, hands outstretched. "Fake!" shouted Claflin. "Watch
the ball! Watch the ball!"

Rollins's arms fell, empty, as St. Clair grabbed the pigskin and swept
wide to the right. "_In! In!_" cried Carmine. St. Clair turned and shot
toward the broken line. His interference did its part, but the Claflin
left end had fooled Holt and it was that blue-legged youth who got St.
Clair and thumped him to the sod. An anxious, breathless moment
followed. Brimfield called for time and St. Clair, on his back, kicked
and squirmed while they pumped the air back into his lungs. The referee,
kneeling over the ball, squinted along the line. Then:

"Fourth down and about two to go!" he announced.

St. Clair had lost a half-yard! Claflin cheered weakly. Steve Edwards
and Carmine consulted.

"We'd better kick it over," said Carmine. "They're getting the jump on
us every time, Steve." Carmine's voice was husky and he had to gasp his
words out. Steve, panting like an engine, shook his head.

"We need the touchdown," he said. "We'll put it over. Try 11. Tim can
make it."

St. Clair walked back to his place. The whistle sounded again. "Come on,
Brimfield!" gasped Carmine. "This is your last chance! If you don't do
it this time you'll never do it! Play like you meant it! Stop your
fool