ck five,
ten yards at a time as the Woodhull swept up the field.

"It's the only place they can gain," he cried in his soul in bitter
iteration.

He looked around and caught the eye of Captain Cockrell and sent him a
mute, agonizing, fruitless appeal.

"Kennedy's ball," came the sharp cry of Slugger Jones, the umpire.

Dink looked up and felt the blood come back to his body again--on the
twenty-five yard line there had been a fumble and the advance was
checked. Twice again the battered end of the Kennedy was forced back
for what seemed certain touchdowns, only to be saved by loose work on
the Woodhull's part. It was getting dark and the half was ebbing
fast--three minutes more to play. A fourth time the Woodhull furiously
attacked the breach, gaining at every rush over the light opposition,
past the forty-yard line, past the twenty-yard mark and triumphantly,
in the last minute of play, over the goal for a touchdown. The ball
had been downed well to the right of the goal posts and the trial for
goal was an unusually difficult one. The score was a tie, everything
depended on the goal that, through the dusk, Tough McCarty was
carefully sighting. Dink, heartbroken, despairing, leaning on his
linesman's staff, directly behind the ball, waited for the long,
endless moments to be over. Then there was a sudden movement of
McCarty's body, a wild rush from the Kennedy and the ball shot high in
the air and, to Stover's horror, passed barely inside the farther
goalpost.

"No goal," said Slugger Jones. "Time up."

Dink raised his head in surprise, scarcely crediting what he had
heard. The Woodhull team were furiously disputing the decision,
encouraged by audible comments from the spectators. Slugger Jones,
surrounded by a contesting, vociferous mass, suddenly swept them aside
and began to take the vote of the officials.

"Kiefer, what do you say?"

Cap Kiefer, referee, shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Slugger, it was close, very close, but it did seem a goal
to me."

"Tug, what do you say?"

"Goal, sure," said Tug Wilson, linesman for the Woodhull. At this,
jeers and hoots broke out from the Kennedy.

"Of course he'll say that!"

"He's from the Woodhull."

"What do you think?"

"Justice!"

"Hold up, hold up, now," said Slugger Jones, more excited than any
one. "Don't get excited; it's up to your own man. Dink, was it a goal
or no goal?"

Stover suddenly found himself in a whirling, angry mass--the decision
of