Next time Warne was given the ball for a run round Fardale’s right end, and, with a goodly number of interferers to assist him, he cleared the end of the line at top speed, passing Nunn, who was blocked off, and seemed to have a good chance to make a run straight to the cadet’s goal.
The thirty Viewland rooters rose up and howled for joy. But down on Warne with terrible speed came a flying form. The runner tried to dodge, but Dick Merriwell shot through the air, got Warne by the leg, and stretched him on the turf.
Not more than ten yards had been made, when it seemed that the enemy was due for a touch-down.
"Of course, that was a case of bad playing!" cried Doris Templeton revengefully. "Don’t you think so, Hal?"
Darrell bit his lip, but he had the manhood to say:
"That was a good tackle; I confess it."
But Doris was not to be appeased so easily.
"I presume you might have done better," she said. "Why don’t you go in for football, Hal? You play baseball; you might play football. Are you afraid?"
"Afraid—of what?"
"That Mr. Merriwell will do better at the game than you can. That you may be hurt. That—lots of things."