It was a tense moment. The full back was gaining. Slowly, but surely, he crept up and the distance between the two lessened. Dick ran with more and more apparent effort, and it was plain to all that he must be suffering tortures.
Now the full back’s fingers touched him, but could find no hold on the smooth canvas. The next instant they clutched his waist, and clung there with a firm, dragging grip.
Five yards more! Could he ever make it?
Struggling, dragging, straining every nerve and muscle, Merriwell flung himself over the line; and, as he did so, a great sigh arose from the spectators, merging into a crashing burst of sound, for they realized that the ball was over.
CHAPTER VIII
A BROKEN PROMISE AND A VICTORY.
Despite his sprained ankle, Merriwell kicked the goal, straight and true, and the teams lined up again. But that run had been a last desperate attempt to wrest victory from defeat.
Unable to count longer on Dick, who, though he was still able to play, could not be expected to continue the extraordinary efforts which had made him an object of wonder to every man on the field, the team went to pieces as nearly as any Yale team can.
They played despairingly, doggedly, disputing every inch on the part of the Princeton organization, but for all that being borne slowly down the field.
The ginger was gone out of them. They had no life, and their playing had become more or less machinelike.