fifteen pounds heavier than
Frank, a big margin where a boy is concerned. He came tearing down the
field with the ball. Frank rushed right across his path, stood his
ground with a tigerish gleam and posture, and when his man approached,
tackled him low, sending him sprawling to earth, the ball rolling away
to one side. The coach leaped into the air, gave the bench a bang with
his hand that drew blood, and exclaimed between his teeth, "Grit."

The Regal crowd fairly went wild. Gaffney swung his arms like a wind
mill, and worked his megaphone like a factory whistle, but it was all
lost. Unmarshalled cheers shook the stand. Yells, shouts, slaps on the
back, frenzy. It was Regal's first chance to let loose. The nervous
tension was at the breaking point. It needed just this play to act as a
safety valve. When Gaffney at last could get a hearing, he yelled--"A
Rah Rah for Mulvy." With an enthusiasm that inspired the team on the
field, they yelled:

"Mulvy, Mulvy! Rah, Rah, Mul . . . vy!"

"Another," shouted Gaffney.

"Mulvy, Mulvy! Rah, Rah, Mul . . . vy!"

"Now one for Regal, whoop it up, boys."

"Regal, Regal, Rah, Rah, Regal!"

The ball was snapped back to Bob, who gave it a kick that sent it right
over the goal for three points. Again pandemonium. Again cheers. Stanley
followers were beginning to get nervous. 8 to 3 was not dangerous, but
it was the way Regal was going at it. "What a difference one man
makes," was heard on all sides.

The teams lined up again. Both were playing at top speed. They swayed to
and fro. There were no slips, no mistakes. It was give and take, with
the results about even. It kept on that way until the whistle blew and
the third quarter was over.

The Regal crowd occupied the short interval cheering its team
uninterruptedly. Stanley did the same.

The whistle blew again, and the battle was renewed. If Stanley could
hold the score as it was, the victory was hers. Out from her side of the
stands came the concerted yell,

"Stanley, hold! Stanley, hold! Stanley, hold!"

And that was their game. They held well. Eight minutes of the quarter
had passed, and it began to look as if nothing could get through
Stanley. It looked like her game. Then something happened.

The ball was passed to Mulvy. With the grace and speed of a hound, he
made for the enemy line. Hardly had he started when a big Stanley player
got right in front of him. By clever dodging Frank got by him. He had
just struck