Straight as a ramrod Don’s hand shot out in the approved straight-arm, to catch the player squarely in the face. His head went back suddenly and he was pushed to one side, to drop limply to the ground, surprised and stunned. He had met his match and had received the worst of it. Don swept on out into the open field and began a run that brought the stands to their feet. Past the two half backs, narrowly missed by the Dimsdale fullback, and running a nip and tuck race with the enemy fullback Don beat the nearest man over the goal line by inches and touched the ball to the ground as the exhausted Dimsdale quarterback fell over him.
A mighty roar went up that lasted for at least three minutes and in that period a try for a goal was made but the ball missed the uprights by inches. They were taking their places once more when the whistle blew, ending the game with the score standing at 20 to 13 in favor of Woodcrest.
To the Class A champions the defeat was a crushing one and they left the field utterly humbled. To the cadets, suffering under the insults and sneers of years, the victory was more than sweet, and the score caused special rejoicing. Don was made much of and the coach assured him of a star’s position on the team in the following season.
“Nothing but pure fighting spirit won that game for you, boys,” the coach told them in the locker room. “Those fellows could parade through you for a touchdown every time they wanted to, but it was your alertness, as typified by Hudson’s catch of the forward pass, and your sheer determination, as Mercer showed, that took the game, not to mention the intelligent handling of the little quarterback. Man to man you were outplayed and outweighed, but you beat a mighty good team by courage and fighting spirit.”
During the game Terry was engaged in an unexpected argument. It was the custom at Woodcrest when they had a game of any kind to place cadets at the entrances of the rival grandstand to direct people to their seats or to stop any horse play in the stands. As Terry was not on the football squad he was assigned to the task of standing guard at one end of the visitors’ grandstand.
Terry did not mind in the least. He was dressed in his dress parade uniform and for the time being had a little authority, even though it was limited to bossing small boys and directing people to seats. There were enough girls in the stand near him to make him anything but sorry that he had on his best uniform, and he could see the game perfectly. Terry had no fault to find with his post.
Before the game started many couples and groups had passed him and entered the stands, picking their own seats, and the red-headed cadet did not move. He was only to pick seats when it became crowded, and not even then unless requested, so he contented himself with watching the people as they passed him and entered the stand. All of them were friends of the preparatory school team and they carried red banners with a black D on them. A number of young men sat very near where Terry was standing and they looked him over and made a few would-be funny remarks to which Terry paid no attention.
When the Woodcrest team trotted out some of the Dimsdale supporters booed it heartily and the blood rushed to Terry’s cheeks. For the moment he regretted the fact that he was not on the football team and playing in today’s game. Grimly he pictured himself smashing wide holes through the opposite lines and the prospect was pleasing. He decided that he had had enough of running and that on the next gathering of football candidates he would surely be there.
Something that was being said by the well-dressed youths near him attracted his attention at this point. One of them, in a plaid wool shirt and gray flannel slacks, was addressing a few of his friends.
“It’s a wonder these soldier boys ever got up the nerve to play us,” he announced. “Of course, it will be a walk-away with ’em. Alongside of our fellows they look like a kindergarten.”