WON BACK.
Beside Inza Burrage, in a splendid position to watch the game, sat a pretty girl with fluffy hair. She wore Harvard's colors, and seemed greatly excited.
"There he is!" she exclaimed, at various stages of the game—"there is Jack! See him, Inza!"
"Yes," said Inza, "I see him."
But her eyes were not on the one meant by her companion. She was watching Frank Merriwell, and she bit her lip as she watched.
She had seen him receive her note, she had seen him read it, tear it in pieces, cast the pieces aside.
"He will play!" she muttered. "He will break his promise to me!"
Her companion heard her words.
"You said Merriwell would not go into the game," she cried.
"Yes, I said so, but I was wrong. He gave me his promise not to play, and last night he sent me a letter asking to be released from that pledge. The note I sent to him a short time ago was a reminder of his promise, and a refusal to release him."
"Yet he will play?"
"He is going into the game."
"Then it can't be that he thinks as much of you as you supposed."
"He does not. This has settled that point."
"I'm afraid Harvard will not win, Inza. Jack says Frank Merriwell has been Harvard's hoodoo in everything. He was sure Harvard would obtain this game if Merriwell did not play. You said he did not mean to play, but I wanted you to ask him not to do so."
"I did ask him, something I should not have done had we not been such friends, Paula, although I was curious to know how much influence I had over him. Oh, I think he is the meanest fellow! I shall hate him now!"
Inza's eyes were flashing and her face flushed. She was intensely angry, and she showed it.
Paula Benjamin was startled.
"Oh, you musn't be too hard on him!" she said. "You know how much Jack loves Harvard, and how crazy he is for Harvard to beat Yale in this game. I was almost as crazy myself, and that is why I wanted you to ask Mr. Merriwell not to play."
"I shall never trust him again," whispered Inza, hoarsely—"never! He has broken his promise to me."
"It is certain he loves Yale as dearly as Jack loves Harvard. He may think it is his duty to break his word for the sake of Yale."
"I don't care! I don't care! I do hope Harvard will beat!"
With breathless interest the two girls watched the game. They were nerved to a point of intense excitement. They saw Harvard stand like a stone wall against Yale's repeated assaults. It was a battle of gladiators.
Then came Harvard's tiger-like assault upon Yale's center, and Jack Benjamin went through with the ball. The great crowd of spectators rose as one person, seething with excitement, as Benjamin flew toward Yale's line.
"Hurrah!" cried the sister of the little fellow. "That is Jack—my brother Jack! He'll make a touchdown! They can't catch him—they can't stop him!"
"Wait a bit!" palpitated Inza Burrage, who was clinging convulsively to Paula's arm. "Look—look there! Frank is after him! See them run! Frank is gaining!"
"He can't catch Jack—my brother Jack! I know he can't do it! Jack has the start! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
"He will catch him! He's gaining! See—see him again! He is getting nearer—nearer! Now—now——Oh-o-o-oh!"
Frank Merriwell had flung himself at the Harvard man and pulled him down. Then the other players piled upon them.
"I knew it!" cried Inza, with a hysterical laugh. "I knew he could not get away from Frank!"
"Oh, the brute!" sobbed Paula—"the brute to throw my brother like that! Jack was right! Frank Merriwell will keep Harvard from winning! I hate him!"
"Yes," fluttered Inza, "he will do it if it is in his power. Oh, he is a wonderful player! But he thinks more of his old college than he does of me! I'll never speak to him again!"
Paula sat down and cried, while Inza did her best to comfort her friend.
Soon the game was on again, as fierce as ever. Yale fought desperately, driving Harvard back a little, but it seemed that Harvard had the superior team. All the fighting was on Yale's territory. At last, as the first half drew to a close, Harvard's left half-back went around Yale's end, and the most masterly interference prevented Yale from stopping him. He crossed the line and made a touchdown. Then Harvard's full-back had time enough to kick a goal, and the first half ended with Harvard triumphant.
"Har-vard! Har-vard! Harvard! Rah-rah-rah! Rah-rah-rah! Rah-rah-rah! Harvard!"
It was a sense of wild rejoicing. Crimson fluttered all over the great throng.
Where was the blue?
"Yale isn't in the game for a minute," said some who were supposed to be experts. "The Yale fellows found they were butting against a stone wall every time they tried a rush. This is Harvard's year."
Ralph Harlow was beaming with triumph.
"It's going to be an easy thing for our money, Harris," he chuckled. "Yale can't do anything with Harvard to-day."
"That's the way it looks," admitted Harris; "but the game is not over."
"The game will run the same way till, it is over. Yale's rushers could do nothing with Harvard's line. Frank Merriwell is the only man who has distinguished himself for Yale, and he could do nothing but delay the inevitable for a short time."
"That was the only real good opportunity Merriwell has had," said Sport. "He showed what he could do then. You remember his run through Princeton's line last year?"
"That's all right. Yale can't break an opening to let him through Harvard's line this year."
"I hope not, but I shan't feel sure of it till the game is over."
The Harvard crowd cheered and sang songs till they were hoarse. They hugged each other, tooted horns and indulged in wild antics to give vent to the exuberance of their feelings.
The sons of Old Eli who had come up from New Haven to see the game were dolefully silent. They had seen Yale fling herself upon Harvard time after time and rebound as a ball rebounds from a solid wall, and their hearts were weak within them.
Paula Benjamin was almost crazy with joy. She laughed and cried by turns.
"Oh, the dear fellows!" she exclaimed. "I could hug every one of them!"
Inza Burrage said nothing, but upon her face there was a look of unspeakable disappointment and dismay. In her heart she was crying:
"Will Yale let them beat? Will Frank be beaten? If he is, I am sure I'll never speak to him again!"
Soon the men formed for the beginning of the second half. Harvard went into the game on the jump, and Yale was forced to resort to defense play. It seemed that there was no stopping the crimson in its onward march to victory. Foot by foot and inch by inch Yale was beaten back till the ball was on the twenty-yard line.
Then Halliday revived hope in a measure by taking it back to the center of the field, where he was downed with such violence that he was picked up quite unconscious, and another man had to be put in his place, while he was carried from the field, limp and covered with dirt and glory.
It seemed that Halliday's desperate do-or-die break gave Yale courage and hope. For some time she held Harvard at the center of the field, not allowing a gain of a foot. Then Old Eli got the ball and rushed it into Harvard's territory.
What a glorious fight it was! Now every Yale man in the crowd was on his feet cheering like mad. Those cheers seemed to make fiends of the defenders of the blue. They played, every man of 'em, as if they were in battle and ready to sacrifice their lives without a moment of hesitation. They were irresistible. Harvard's stone wall was broken at last. Merriwell was in the thick of it. Four times he advanced the ball. Others took turns, and, at last, the ball was on Harvard's twenty-five-yard line.
Then there was a hush, for it suddenly became plain that Merriwell would try to kick a goal from the field. It was a desperate expedient. Yale feared to lose the ball and have it carried back to the center in a minute. Such a loss would be fatal, and Forrest knew it Frank had been given the signal to kick.
"He can't do it!" cried scores.
Then they thought of the beautiful kick he had made at the very beginning of the game and were silent.
Frank advanced to the proper position, exactly the right blade of grass. There he poised himself.
Cross fiddled with the ball between his legs. The suspense became intense.
Suddenly the ball was snapped and passed back. Punk—Frank kicked it. Away it sailed.
He did it before those Harvard tigers could down him. It was a glorious kick. Through the goal posts and over the bar it sailed.
Then the Yale yell was heard.
But the game was not over. Harvard had secured a touchdown and a goal. Yale had secured a goal. It seemed that she had feared utter defeat, else she would have fought for the touchdown.
The Harvard crowd remained confident. They crowed, for they said Yale had displayed her own lack of confidence by kicking a goal from the field.
The time was growing short, and there seemed little chance for Yale to do anything more. Harvard men laughed and said Harvard would obtain another touchdown and goal before the end.
Little time was lost in putting the ball into play again. Harvard immediately started out with rushes. Now, to the astonishment of all, Yale was the stone wall.
Soon the ball went to Yale. Mills took it around Harvard's end for fifteen yards. Powell bucked the center with it and gained some ground.
Harvard men began to get anxious. Things had changed since the first half. Harvard was on the defensive now. What had caused the change no one could tell.
Back and still back the Harvard line was forced. Would Yale try to secure another goal from the field? That was the question.
Paula Benjamin was almost crying.
"It's Frank Merriwell!" she said. "Jack said he would hoodoo Harvard, and he has!"
"It is Frank!" thought Inza. "He has put life into the Yale men. He has given them confidence somehow. He must win now—he will!"
The ball was getting dangerously near Harvard's line. The Cambridge men fought to hold it during the last few minutes of the game.
Then, with a sudden movement, a man was sent through Harvard's center, although an around-the-end play had been anticipated. It was a tricky move, and took Harvard by surprise.
Like a shot that man went through Harvard's line. He ran with wonderful speed, with interferers on either side and a bit in advance.
It was Frank making a last desperate effort for a touchdown!
One by one the interferers were flung aside till he was alone, hugging the ball, running as if for his life.
Three men came down on him while he had fifteen yards to go. They flung themselves on him like famished wolves. They thought to crush him to the ground.
Then ten thousand people gasped with astonishment, scarcely able to believe what they saw.
It did not seem that Merriwell slackened speed much, and he still went forward, carrying those three men on his back and shoulders. They tried to drag him down, and others tried to reach him. They could not break him to the ground, and, with them all on his back he carried the ball over the line. Then he fell, and the ball was beneath him.
It was a touchdown for Yale! Besides that, it was the most wonderful touchdown ever made on a football field. A mighty roar went up from the spectators when they realized what had happened. Never before had they witnessed anything like that. They knew the man who made the play had won fame. To-morrow his picture would be in every Boston and New York newspaper.
Oh, how the Yale men shrieked, and screamed, and roared! They were like human beings gone mad. They were crazed with their admiration for the man who had done that trick. They longed to take him in their arms, to bear him on their shoulders, to do him every honor.
Gloriously had Frank Merriwell won back his lost prestige! Let a man breathe a slur against him now and there would be a hundred ready to knock that man down.
When the mass untangled Merriwell was seen lifted to his feet. He stood up, wavering a bit, supported by Forrest, who had an arm around Frank's body.
Then Frank pushed Forrest off. Time was precious, and his soul was strong.
Hasty preparations were made, and, for all of what he had just passed through, Merriwell kicked a goal.
Three seconds later the game was over, and Yale had won.
Then all Merriwell's admirers rushed upon the field to surround him, to fight for a look at him, and to roar their delight.
"Rah for Yale!"
"Three cheers for Frank Merriwell!"
"They can't down Old Eli!"
So the cries rang on.
It was truly a scene never to be forgotten.
But at that moment Frank did not think of the game.
He was wondering what Inza would say.
Would she forgive him for what he had done?
"Oh, I hope she does," was his thought. "If she doesn't——" And he could think no further.