"We're dead-beat. I feel as if I couldn't run another step," with a weary sigh. "I simply couldn't get past those backs."
"And I've got the stitch," added France, lugubriously.
"And my heel rubs."
"Oh, of course, if you're going to lie down on the grass and let 'em," said Duane slowly and with supreme scorn, "I've no doubt they will walk over you."
Peggy flushed. "Of course, we'll do our best. But all the same, it was ridiculous to think we could do anything against the school eleven."
"Well, naturally," said Duane, sharply, "if you're giving in like this, it is hopeless. Only please realize that the match isn't over, so we haven't lost yet. I haven't been accustomed to playing in a team that sits down half-way through a match and says it's beaten. I, for one, certainly don't admit it, and I'm going on playing and sticking to it while I've a breath in me, if I'm the only one in the team left on the field. You stick to me and I'll stick to you. I will, on my honour, and what's more, I'll see you through somehow."
The last words came out in a rush. The girl was still facing them, the blaze of an unconquered spirit lighting her brilliant eyes.
For a moment, nobody stirred or spoke. Then Kitty jumped to her feet, and crossed over to the head prefect's side.
"I'm sticking to you, Duane," she exclaimed, clearly, driven by an impulse she did not stop to analyse. "There'll be two to play on to the end, anyway."
"And so am I," in Bertha's more deliberate tones.