In the Line

by Albertus T. Dudley

“I’ll bet you’re going in,” whispered Wolcott to Durand. “These fumbles have sewered Jack, and they’re afraid of a punting game. If you do go in, try to forget where you are and play just as you did last Tuesday on the second. Yell your signals good and loud, and don’t try to be so terribly fast. I’ll risk you for tackling and hugging the ball.”

Durand didn’t answer, but he felt a thrill from crown to toe, a sudden uplift of joy, and as sudden a reaction of doubt and fear.

The coaches turned. “Durand starts at quarter,” said Laughlin. “No fumbling now! If we get the ball, hang to it like death and fight for every inch. Hold ’em on the first down, and we’ve got ’em licked.”

Jackson winced under the pitying glances. He had failed,—failed terribly; but for that blocked kick? the score would now be a precarious tie. Yet it was hard to be cut off from any chance to retrieve himself; to know in advance that his error, though forgiven, would not be forgotten; that whatever befell the team, his own defeat was assured. He turned hard round to wink back the tears that would well into his eyes; but a moment later he was running over the signals with Durand and trying to help him to a knowledge of the weaknesses of the men against him.

Hillbury was already out, the men alert and hopeful, as if the odds were in their favor; for their coaches had laid out a plan which was to lead to victory. A new man was in guard’s place opposite Wolcott; but the Seaton player had less thought for his opponent than for Durand’s experiment, and less for Durand than for the game to be played. He charged fiercely down on Bullard’s kick-off, as if he felt no heaviness in his weary limbs. The Hillbury end got the ball and dashed furiously down on Wolcott’s side; but the Seaton guard caught him squarely and low, and downed him hard. Then Hillbury tried a double pass for an end run, and finally smashed her way through left tackle to a first down. After that Seaton held and Rounds punted. The ball went to the new back, of course; and Durand, though he held the ball, was pulled down before he had run it back across the second chalk-line. Seaton pushed up the field again a dozen yards and was forced to punt, and Hillbury had a chance again on her forty-yard line.

Hillbury tried a single quick dash outside Bent, gaining three yards with apparent ease, then unexpectedly kicked. It was a long sailing punt, that seemed to float on and on with the help of the wind as if it were never to drop. Durand, who was playing well back, whirled suddenly and ran, then turned and gathered the ball in. Squeezing the precious thing tight in the hollow of his arm, he shot forward, sidestepped clear of the Hillbury end, who lunged at him, and tacking in and out of the loose swarm of friend and foe, he threaded his way with erratic, darting, shuttlelike movement beyond the middle of the field. When he went down, every spectator around Mr. Lindsay was on his feet yelling admiration.

“Now’s our chance,” cried the Harvard student jubilantly, as he resumed his seat. “Rip ’em up there, quarter-back; smash ’em through the centre; put another knot in that score!”

But instead the quarter sent Buist at the end. The Hillbury end dodged into the interference and threw the Seaton runner back a yard. Through the centre only two were gained, and Seaton, fearing to lose the ball, punted. Howe got it on his ten-yard line and carried it valiantly back across several white lines.

The Hillbury full drew back to punt. Buist was already scuttling into his back field when Hendry, who saw something in the attitude of the backs to arouse suspicion, exclaimed sharply, “Fake! fake!” But it was too late. While he was speaking the ball was snapped, the Seaton guards ploughed through to block the expected kick, and Joslin with the ball under his arm, and two interferers beside him, darted for the right end. Hendry was boxed; Read got tangled in the interference; Wendt just touched the runner with his finger ends as he flung himself at the fleeting mark; and Joslin, the fastest sprinter, barring one, in both the schools, had almost an open field to the Seaton goal-posts.

The “almost” was the little quarter-back crouching in the distance, his eyes glued upon his fast approaching foe. It was an awful moment; the Seaton sympathizers caught their breaths and sent their hope in a single mighty yearning to the aid of the last defender of their goal. Durand saw nothing but the man charging with the ball, felt no fear of the critical instant, but only intense eagerness to meet the man squarely and get his arms around those flashing legs. Step by step he moved forward, in catlike watch of every movement of his opponent, who was bounding toward him in strong, free leaps. A dozen yards away Joslin swerved suddenly to run around his man. At the moment Durand shot forward to cut the runner’s path. For one critical instant only was the Hillbury man within his reach; but that instant Durand felt in every nerve of his body, and his body acted of its own volition. He did not reason nor question; it was as if some mysterious electric force suddenly caught him with irresistible impulse and launched him against his foe. Down the two went in a whirl of legs; and only when Durand had disentangled himself from the quickly formed heap and scrambled to his feet, did his mind awake to the success of the play.