rown with
a loss of a yard. A similar play with Wills as the runner was tried
around the other end and netted a yard and a half. It was the third down
and four and a half yards to gain. Back went the ball to Post and he
kicked. But it was a poor performance, that kick, and only drove the
pigskin down the side-line to the forty-yard line, where it bounded in
touch. But it delayed the evil moment of another score for St. Eustace,
and the seats cheered.

"Twelve minutes left," announced Remsen.

Relentless as fate the St. Eustace forwards surged on toward the
opposing goal. Two yards, three yards, one yard, five yards, half a
yard, always a gain, never a check, until once more the leather reposed
just in front of the Hillton goal and midway between the ten and
fifteen-yard line. Then a plunge through the tackle-guard hole,
followed by a tandem on guard, and another five yards was passed. The
cheering from the wearers of the blue was now frantic and continuous.
There was two years of defeat to make up for, and victory was hovering
over the azure banner!

"Eight minutes to play," said Remsen. "If we can only keep them from
scoring again!" Suddenly there was a murmur from the seats, then a cry
of surprise from Remsen's side, then a shout of exultation that gathered
and grew as it traveled along the line. And around the corner of the
stand came a youth who strove to lace his torn and tattered canvas
jacket as he ran. Remsen leaped to his feet, dropping his pipe
unnoticed, and hastened toward him. They met and for a moment conversed
in whispers.

"It's Joel March!" cried Blair. "He's going to play!" exclaimed a dozen
voices. "But he can't," cried a dozen others. "He's on probation." "He
is! He is! He's going on! He's going to play!"

And so he was. Whipple had already seen him, and had sunk to the ground
nursing an ankle which had suddenly gone lame. "Time!" he cried, and
obedient to his demand the referee's whistle piped. "Give your place to
Post, Wills!" he commanded, and then, limping to Joel, he led that
youth apart.

"Can you play?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes."

"Then get in there at full-back, and, O March, kick us out of this
bloody place! I'll give you the ball on the next down. Kick it for all
you're worth." He gave Joel a shove. "All right, Mr. Referee!" The
whistle sounded.

Forward charged St. Eustace. But, gathering encouragement from the
knowledge that back of them stood a full who would put them out of