t
of frantic cheering. But, just as it neared the bar, a stiff gust of
wind from the north caught it and deflected it from its course. It
curved down and out, striking the post and bounded back into the field,
where Ensley fell upon it.

The hearts of the Blues went down into their boots, while their
opponents capered about and hugged each other.

"What's the use playing against such luck as that?" growled Drake
disgustedly.

"It's tough, all right," agreed Bert, "but they can't get all the
breaks. It'll be our turn next."

Before the ball could be put in play the period ended, and the teams
went to their quarters for the fifteen minute rest before the final
struggle.

"Hard luck, boys," consoled the coach, "but things are due to change.
Wilson deserved that goal if he didn't get it, but that's part of the
game. You've got their number. Keep on hammering the line, and if you
find that won't work, uncork that variation of the forward pass. Go in
now and eat them up."

As the fellows filed out, they passed Dan, the bulldog, dressed in a
brand-new suit of blue in honor of the occasion. Tom stooped and patted
his head.

"Get on the job, old boy," he urged. "Show those fellows that you are
the real thing in mascots."

Dan barked reassuringly. But he took his time in thinking it over. And
the hard luck of the Blues still persisted.

A fruitless attempt to buck the line by either team failing to yield the
desired gain, there followed a kicking duel between the two fullbacks in
which Bert easily carried off the honors. But slips and off-side playing
neutralized the advantage.

On the "Greys" forty yard line they tried out "Bull" Hendricks' new
variation. The ball was passed to Bert, apparently for a drop kick, but
immediately on receiving the ball, he started on an end run as though
the move had been a "plant" to draw in the end rush. Thinking the whole
thing a fake, the halfback at first hesitated to come in, but Bert kept
on parallel to the line of scrimmage until the half dared hesitate no
longer, as it looked certain that Bert was bent on a run around the
ends. In the meantime the long run had given Drake time to get down the
field, and Bert, turning swiftly, sent the ball to him in a beautiful
spiral swing. It would have worked to a charm had not Drake tripped as
he started on his run and been savagely tackled by Livingston before he
could regain his feet.

"Another good thing gone wrong," groaned Dick. And