Harvard was cheering her men on.
The half was drawing to a close, and neither side had scored. Harvard did not propose to lose her advantage. The captain called on his men to rally, and they answered. Having the ball in their possession, they began a series of terrific hammering at the Yale line. To the despair of the Yale rooters the defenders of the blue seemed weakening. Harvard made steady gains, and the ball was pushed to Yale’s thirty-yard line once more, where there was another fearful scrimmage, and when it was over Buck Badger was carried from the field with a wrenched knee.
“That settles it!” groaned Browning. “I’ve never liked that fellow, but he’s been our mainstay to-day. We’re in the soup!”
“I am afraid so,” said Diamond huskily. “Oh, if Frank Merriwell could take his place!”
A freshman by the name of Deland came out from the reserves and took Badger’s place. The game went on, with Harvard hammering her way forward sure as fate. Yale’s twenty-yard line was reached. Then the crimson beat out three yards, a yard, four yards, two yards, and the ball was “down” ten yards from Yale’s goal-line.
“For the love of Heaven, hold it there two minutes!” prayed Jack Diamond, looking at his watch.
Harvard had found she could gain by driving with all her might into Yale’s line. It was brutal sort of work, but it counted, and those Cambridge men were there to win if it cost blood and limbs. Yale was making a “last-ditch stand.” There did not seem to be a man on the team who was not willing to shed any amount of gore if he could aid in the checking of those human battering-rams.
Slam! Harvard drove into Yale’s right end, and the “down” had not gained a foot. Bang! Harvard rammed Yale’s center, and four yards were made.
Then there was a quick change of men, and two substitutes appeared in Yale’s line. They were fresh, and they held Harvard in her next center attack.
“It’ll be all over in a moment!” groaned Browning. “Harvard will put the ball over the line on her next attempt!”