This urging seemed to have no effect, for there was another play, and this time the ball went through for a seven-yard gain.
“Well, well!” muttered Merry. “What do you think of that?”
There followed a fierce drive at center, and Joe Mayburn let the runner get past him for ten yards. Clancy was dancing around like a wild man. Handy was doing all he could to steady the boys, but it was plain that they were badly rattled by the sharp work of the other team.
Another play was aimed at center, but Mayburn was on his mettle, and the attack was thrown off.
“Bully work, Mayburn!” roared Merry. “That’s the style!”
“I guess they don’t find Mayburn so easy as they thought,” chuckled Clancy. “There they go again,” he added.
And again Gold Hill failed. Confidence was returning to the Ophir men.
“They’re getting their nerve back,” commented Merriwell. “Oh, I guess we’ll show those fellows that Ophir is a different crowd to-day from what it was a year ago. Now let Gold Hill kick.”
The way Ophir came up the field was beautiful to see. Savagely Gold Hill fought for every yard of the way. After two downs and a total gain of twenty yards, Handy tried for a field goal and missed. The colonel waved his hat, and then calmed himself into the correct official impassiveness. A little later, he blew the whistle.
“Fifteen minutes?” cried Clancy. “Thunder, Chip, it seems more like fifteen seconds to me.”