ul
whether from the last and toughest of these scrimmages the ball would
ever emerge again to the light of day.

Suddenly, however; it become evident that the _status quo_ was about to
give way, and that the fortunes of either side were going to take a new
turn. No one in the game, still less outside, could at first tell what
had happened. Then it occurred to Yorke and one or two others that
Rollitt, who had hitherto been playing listlessly and sleepily, was
waking up. His head, high above his fellows, was seen violently
agitated in the middle of the scrimmage, and presently it struggled
forward till it came to where the ball lay. A moment later, the
Rendlesham side of the scrimmage showed signs of breaking, and a moment
after that Rollitt, quickly picking up the ball, burst through both
friend and foe.

"Back up, Dangle! back up, Ranger!" shouted Yorke.

"Look out behind!" cried the Rendlesham captain.

Rollitt carried that ball pretty much as he had carried Dangle a day or
two before, almost contemptuously, indifferent as to who opposed him or
who got in his way. The only difference was that whereas he then
walked, now he ran. And when Rollitt chose to run, as Fellsgarth knew,
even Ranger, the swift-footed, was not in it.

The enemy's forwards were shaken off, and their quarter-backs distanced.
The half-backs closed on him with a simultaneous charge that made him
reel. But he kept his feet better than they, and staggered on with one
of them hanging to his arm.

"Look out in goal!" shouted the Rendlesham men.

"Back up, you fellows!" cried Yorke.

In his struggle with the man on his arm, Rollitt lost pace enough to
enable Blackstone to overtake and make a wild dash, not at the man, but
the ball. The onslaught was partly successful, for the ball fell.
Dangle, who was close behind, made an attempt to pick it up, but before
he could do so, Rollitt, like a hound momentarily checked, dashed back
to recover it himself, knocking over, as he did so, both Dangle and
Blackstone.

He had it again, and once more was off, this time with only the enemy's
back to intercept him. The back did his best, and sacrificed himself
nobly for his side, but he was no match for the Fellsgarth giant, who
simply rode over him, and followed by a mighty roar of cheering from the
onlookers, carried the ball behind the goals, touching it down with
almost fastidious precision exactly half-way between the poles.

A minute later and