"Down on it, Parkland. Now's your chance!" bellowed the visitors, while Ranleigh fellows looked on in terror. The rush in the opposite direction was, in fact, swifter even than had been the previous one undertaken by Ranleigh fellows. Barlow shouted to his outside left. The man centred, and at once the Captain of the visiting team sent a shot at the goal which, but for Moon, would have succeeded. But Moon was a treasure. Ranleigh chaps shouted his name till they were hoarse. To this day, and for many a day to come, his prowess in goal will be remembered at the school. For Moon was a huge fellow, an ox in size and weight and muscular development. His arms were of the size of the average fellow's legs, and when he hit out his blows were terrific. See him then waiting for that shot between the posts of Ranleigh's goal. Not flurried, not at all, for Moon was an old hand. Watching eagerly and keenly, balanced on his toes, ready to spring to the rescue. And see what followed. Moon's right fist swung out, clad in its leather glove. Even Sturton could not have kicked the ball harder. Moon's terrific blow sent it soaring away over the heads of the players to the centre of the field, thus saving the goal for Ranleigh. Ah! They know at Ranleigh how to encourage a man, how to show their approval. The groan which went up from the lips of the visitors, their grumbles at their want of fortune, were drowned out of hearing by the shrill yells of Ranleigh boys, by their mad cheers and cries of delight. It was magnificent! Clive felt quite overcome. Masters declared that a testimonial must be given to Moon to mark this noble occasion, and would, in fact, have commenced a collection at once had not Susanne, knowing him somewhat thoroughly, declined to part with even a penny.
But the ball was being dealt with actively again. Ranleigh swept it well out of their own ground and sent it over the touch-line within easy distance of the enemy's goal. A moment later "Hands" was given against the home team, while the rush which followed the free kick carried the ball within the circle directly in front of Ranleigh goal. Then Moon pounced upon the leather, slipped, and fell in the mire. The greasy ball squeezed out of his hands as a pip shoots from an orange, there was frantic kicking for some few seconds, and then, to the bellows of the Parkland boys and groans of the Ranleigh fellows, it was kicked between the posts by Barlow.
Clive looked desperately at his fellows. "One to Parkland," he said. "They're awful hot. Think we'll be able to stop 'em?"
Susanne nodded his head cheerily. He was feeling just as anxious as the rest. But cheerfulness was half the battle with the Frenchman.
"You wait," he said, chewing a pencil. If he had been away from the school and its surroundings he would have had a cigarette between his lips. For the weed, he often asserted, consoled him wonderfully. "You wait till after half. Sturton'll give 'em socks then. Our chaps haven't started."
It was evident enough that Ranleigh had on this occasion been taken by surprise. The sudden rush of the enemy and the unfortunate slip of Moon had resulted in their undoing. But Sturton showed no signs of dismay as he led the men back into their own ground.
"Go steady," he whispered to them. "No rushing after this. Of course, push 'em for all you know, but keep well in hand. I'm going to stake everything on the last half of the game. By then they'll be cooked if they're not as fit as fiddles."
When at length Bagshaw's whistle went for half-time, and slices of lemon were brought out to the players, the score stood at three to one, Ranleigh having secured but a single goal.
"But you'll run up the score when we get going again," declared Bagshaw hopefully, as he chatted with the men during the interval. "I'll swear their chaps aren't as fit as we are. They've been going hammer and tongs all the while, and have only two more goals than we have. You chaps must push them hard. Make the running from the very commencement."
If Bagshaw was hopeful, others of Ranleigh School were not. There was now an air of depression about the fellows. The cheering of late had hardly been so loud or so enthusiastic. Clive wrapped his overcoat a little closer round him, for he felt positively chilly, while even Susanne looked less cheerful. As for Masters, it was a bitter day. He had hoped to be able to look down on Parkland fellows. If he were to be hoarse for a week after, it would have been fine to shout them down, to answer cheer for cheer. And now it looked as if they would do all the cheering. Also, to add to his depression, Franklin found him at half-time and became disgustingly insistent.