Soon the gong sounded again, and the play was on once more. The Meadowfair men seemed desperate, and they fought like tigers. Three times within as many minutes the ball was forced down so near the Springbrook goal posts that a clever strike would have made a goal, and three times, mounted on old Coffin Head, Frank Merriwell sent it back into the center of the field.
On the third trip, Kenneth St. Ives got in a clever stroke and passed it to Diamond, who had been playing a waiting game. Jack saw his chance, and he rushed it for the Meadowfair posts.
Fenton charged on Jack like a whirlwind, but made a miss stroke, and the Virginian rushed the white sphere down through the posts, making another goal for Springbrook.
Two minutes’ rest followed, and then the ball was put in again.
The face of Stephen Fenton was dark with anger, and he played as if possessed by a fiend. But all his work was vain, for Springbrook made three goals in the last half, and the game closed with a complete whitewash for Meadowfair.
CHAPTER XXVI—BEFORE THE HUNT
“I believe there will be a frost to-morrow morning,” declared Kenneth St. Ives, as the boys were gathered in the summerhouse that evening. “It has turned very cold within an hour, and there is not a breath of wind. If there is a frost look out for sport.”
“What sort of sport?” eagerly asked Harry Rattleton. “Something we can all take part in?”
“Sure.”
“Name it.”