“I’ll see if I can stand.”
Yards and Harrison lifted the sufferer to his feet. He took a step with his right foot, rested his weight on it,—and went down in a heap.
“Do you think it’s broken?” asked the coach in alarm.
“I guess not,” replied Mac, transforming a grin into a grimace, “but you’ll have to send Jack in.”
Yards called for Sumner, and the maimed quarter went hobbling off the field, supported by Yards and Louis Tracy, and saluted by a booming salvo from the graduates, and an impassioned cheer from the schoolboy section. Yards proposed to send him directly to the dressing rooms and call in a physician, but Mac pleaded piteously to be allowed to see the game out. So he stood at the side-lines, leaning on Louis’s shoulder.
“We should have made another touch-down if you hadn’t got hurt,” said the coach, in a resentful tone, as Horr at the first signal was pushed through outside Ben Tracy for a gain of five yards. “We had ’em on the run.”
“Jack will do just as well,” answered Mac, calmly. “He’s better on the offence than I am.”
In truth, Sumner had the advantage over Mac in some respects. He was heavier, he got into the plays better, and he profited by his close study of the game from the side-lines. The team reacted to a fresh voice, while Sumner’s strength, applied at the critical instant, helped to break the resistance and roll the wedge along. Outside guard, outside tackle, around the end, changing his attack from side to side, Sumner pushed his backs to a first down, to another, to a third. Then, when the Trowbridge secondary defence concentrated close behind the line, he worked a forward pass himself, running backward to make sure of his throw, and delivering the ball safely into Tracy’s hands. Westcott’s was on the Trowbridge ten-yard line, pressing hotly forward, when the referee’s whistle put an end to the game.
Mac lingered on the side-lines, waiting for an opportunity to congratulate Sumner on his playing. As they walked together to the dressing rooms, escorted by a half-dozen admiring youngsters, the injured quarter forgot to limp. Close by the entrance Yards accosted them.
“You ran the team finely, Sumner,” he exclaimed, with radiant face. Then, suddenly recalling Mac’s misfortune, he turned upon him and demanded, “How’s that ankle?”