The brief intermission was almost over. The spectators settled back into their seats and the cheering started in once more. The sun was almost behind the west corner of the stand. The shadows were lengthening and a brisk, sharp wind, straight from the Sound, caused overcoat collars to be turned up and furs to be drawn closely around fair necks. From the crowded tiers of seats came the steady tramp-tramp of chilled feet, hinting their owners’ impatience.
The players took their places; the breathless silence was suddenly split by the shrilling of the referee’s whistle, and the battle was resumed.
Jack Kenny played the game during that last quarter as he had never played before. His clever work rose to the point of brilliancy, for the winning of that game had become an absolute monomania with him. He felt that in no other way could he make up for his behavior of the past week, which had come so perilously near bringing disaster upon his beloved college.
It would be a triumph indeed if he could personally make another run for the blue, but he felt that such a thing was too much to hope for.
But brilliant as was his manœuvring, which was ably seconded by every man on the team, the splendid work of Harvard made it barren of results. They were evidently determined that, if they could not score again, neither should their opponents; and the hands of the big clock above the stand moved inexorably forward without either side having the advantage.
Desperately Kenny tried every trick at his command, without avail. Back and forth surged the gasping, ragged, tattered lines of men, battling in those last few minutes as if their very lives, and more, depended on their efforts.
The vast throng of spectators were thrilled into silence so absolute that it seemed almost as if they had ceased breathing, as they bent forward with staring eyes riveted on the field, oblivious to all else but the struggle taking place before them.
There were but four minutes left when the quarter back suddenly ripped out a signal and snatched the ball from Baulsir. This time he did not pass it, but darted toward the left end. Tempest sprang forward and swung in beside him; the left tackle and end interfered strenuously as the crimson line plunged forward.
Kenny ran as he had never run before, and Tempest kept pace with him barely a few feet away. In an instant they had cleared the opposing guard and tackle, running free with only the full back and left half in the way.
Kenny thrilled with joy and exultation. His chance had come. Tempest would take care of the half back, and, somehow, he could manage to get past the other. He would make a goal and win the game. Thus his self-respect would be restored and reparation made for his amazing folly.