utes, fellows!" shouted the Claflin quarter-back exultantly.
"We've got time to do it! Come on now, come on! We can win it right now!
All together, Claflin! We've got them on the run! They're all-in!
They're ready to quit!"

The Claflin full-back faked a kick and circled around Lee's end for a
six-yard gain. Then the Blue's right half plugged the line and got three
more past Hall. It was one to go on third down. Another attack on Hall
was pushed back, but Claflin made it first down by sending Cox squirming
around Thayer. The ball was on the eleven yards now. It was Brimfield's
turn to know the fear of defeat. Edwards implored and bullied. Claflin
banged at Gilbert for a yard. A quarter-back run caught Steve Edwards
napping and put the pigskin on the seven yards. Brimfield's adherents,
massed along the side line, shouted defiantly. Across the darkening,
trampled field, the Claflin cohorts were imploring a touchdown.

"Third down! Six to go!" shouted the referee, hurrying out of the way.

"On side, Claflin right end and tackle!" warned the umpire.

The signals came again and the Claflin full-back smashed into the left
of the opposing team. But it was like striking a stone wall that time.
Perhaps the ball nestled a few inches nearer the goal, but no more than
that. It was Don who bore the brunt of that attack and after the
piled-up bodies had been pulled aside he and the Claflin full-back
remained on the ground. On came the trainers with splashing buckets. Don
came to with the first swash of the big, smelly sponge on his face.
Danny Moore was grinning down at him.

"Are ye hurt?" he asked.

Don considered that a moment. Then he shook his head. "I'm--all
right,--Danny," he murmured. "Just--help me--up."

"Don't be in a hurry. Take all the time the law allows ye." Danny's
fingers travelled inquiringly over the boy's body. "Where do you feel
it?" he asked.

Don kept his eyes stoically on the trainer's. If he flinched a little
when Danny's strong fingers pressed his right shoulder it was so little
that the trainer failed to see it. Nearby, the Claflin full-back was
already on his feet. Tim came over and knelt by the trainer's side.

"Anything wrong, Don?" he asked in a tired, anxious voice.

"Not a thing," replied Don cheerfully. "Give me a hand, will you? I'm
sort of wabbly, I guess."

On the side line Pryme, head-guard in hand, was trotting up and down.
Coach Robey was looking across intently. Don shook himself,