Then there was a hush, for it suddenly became plain that Merriwell would try to kick a goal from the field. It was a desperate expedient. Yale feared to lose the ball and have it carried back to the center in a minute. Such a loss would be fatal, and Forrest knew it Frank had been given the signal to kick.
"He can't do it!" cried scores.
Then they thought of the beautiful kick he had made at the very beginning of the game and were silent.
Frank advanced to the proper position, exactly the right blade of grass. There he poised himself.
Cross fiddled with the ball between his legs. The suspense became intense.
Suddenly the ball was snapped and passed back. Punk—Frank kicked it. Away it sailed.
He did it before those Harvard tigers could down him. It was a glorious kick. Through the goal posts and over the bar it sailed.
Then the Yale yell was heard.
But the game was not over. Harvard had secured a touchdown and a goal. Yale had secured a goal. It seemed that she had feared utter defeat, else she would have fought for the touchdown.
The Harvard crowd remained confident. They crowed, for they said Yale had displayed her own lack of confidence by kicking a goal from the field.