g, Andy ran on.

He had ten yards to go--thirty feet--and between him and the goal was
the Harvard full-back--a big youth. Andy heard stamping feet behind him.
They were those of friends and foes, but no friends could help him now.

Straight at the Harvard back he ran--panting, desperate. The Crimson
player crouched, waiting for him. Andy dodged. He was midway between the
side lines. He circled. The Harvard back turned and raced after him,
intent on driving him out of bounds. That was what Andy did not want,
but he did want to wind his opponent. Again Andy circled and dodged. The
other followed his every move.

Then Andy came straight at him again, with outstretched hand to ward him
off. There was a clash of bodies, and Andy felt himself encircled in a
fatal embrace. He hurled himself forward, for he could see the goal line
beneath his feet. Over he went, bearing the Harvard player backward,
and, when they fell with a crash, Andy reached out, his arms over his
head, and planted the ball beyond the goal line. He had made the winning
touchdown!

CHAPTER XXII

ANDY SAYS "NO!"

Men were thumping each other on the back. Some had smashed their hats
over other persons' heads. Others had broken their canes from much
exuberant pounding on the floors of the stands.

Everyone was yelling. On one side there was a forest of blue flags
waving up and down, sideways, around in circles. Pretty girls were
clinging to their escorts and laughing hysterically. The escorts
themselves scarcely noticed the said pretty girls, for they were gazing
down on the field--the field about which were scattered eleven players
in blue, and eleven in dull red, all motionless now, amazed or joyful,
according to their color, over the feat of Andy Blair.

On the Harvard stands there was glumness. The red banners slumped in
nerveless hands. It had come as a shock. They had been so sure that Yale
could not score--what matter if the Crimson could not herself--if she
could keep the mighty Bulldog from biting a hole in her goal line?

But it was not to be. Yale had won. There was no time to play more. Yale
had won--somewhat by a fluke, it is true, but she had won nevertheless.
Flukes count in football--fumbles sometimes make the game--for the other
fellow.

"Oh, you Andy Blair!"

"It's a touchdown!"

"Yale wins!"

"Yale! Yale! Yale!"

Some one started the "Boola" song, and it was roared out mightily. Then
came the locomotive cheer.

Sl