The old-timers up there in the stands now began to breathe fast; this was not merely a good game of football, it was a wonderful game, a struggle in which extraordinary playing and fine spirit and brains and courage were united to make a combat that would live long in the memory of every person who witnessed it.
Up where the red was waving aloft, a white-haired man who did not understand the plays of football very well suddenly found that he had grasped the idea of this magnificent game. He was thumping the back of some one whom he had never seen before and giving voice to such yells of delight that the motherly-looking woman who sat beside him said to herself that he must suddenly have gone out of his senses.
"Teeny-bits did something wonderful, then, didn't he?" she shouted in his ear, and old Daniel Holbrook, her husband, shouted back:
"You bet your life he did; it was Teeny-bits; he ran all the way over the home plate or whatever they call it and made a score. I dunno but he's won the game all by himself."
In another part of the stands Doctor Wells was sitting beside Mr. Stevens.
"That was a magnificent run!" exclaimed the Head. "Magnificent! I declare—well—now we're even."
"Yes, we're even!" said the English master. "And I've discovered something."
"What?"
"Well, they say that the head of this school never gets excited, but just now when Teeny-bits was running you nearly pushed me out of my seat—and I think I heard a yell that came from your direction."
"Did I shout?" asked the Head.