But Fardale could not seem to do much with these slippery fellows, and she failed to advance the ball, failed in trying for a field-goal, failed so dismally that the watching cadets groaned with dismay.
New Era took a turn at rushing the ball along the muddy field. She plowed into Fardale, and soon it seemed that the cadets had no show at all.
Chester Arlington, his rain-hat slouched over his face, was pale to the lips as he saw those greased players slip through Fardale’s line for steady gains, saw the ball carried along the muddy field toward Fardale’s goal, realizing in his heart that the home team was playing against a terrible handicap.
“Just my luck!” he thought. “Here I’ve been betting against Fardale and losing right along; to-day I bet on her, and these duffers come along with a trick that makes our team look like a lot of dubs. I’m beaten again! Lord have mercy! the old lady will have to cough up now, and that’s a fact!”
He groaned aloud when the thought of the dreadful condition financially that he would be in if Fardale lost that game. If Fardale lost! There seemed no doubt about that, for New Era walked straight along to a touch-down and then kicked a goal.
Fardale kicked off again. Nelson caught the ball and ran, slipping from the hands of three tacklers who got hold of him fairly. It was awful!
Dick Merriwell brought Nelson down at last, but the ball was in the center of the field.
“Bub-bub-blame this greasy business!” chattered Chip Jolliby, in deepest disgust. “There must be sus-some kuk-kind of a rule against it.”
He was covered with mud to the eyes, presenting a comical, as well as a wretched, spectacle.
“Hi don’t like this kind of football, don’t y’ ’now!” wailed Billy Bradley. “Hit’s hawful—simply hawful!”