Just before the coach sprinted to the spot Dave Darrin, then Tom
Reade, and then Tom Purcell, hurled themselves into the fray.
When the coach arrived he could not find a spot on red-face at which to take hold.
The policeman, limping a bit, came up as fast as he could.
"Will you young gentlemen help me to put these handcuffs on?" asked the officer, dangling a pair of steel bracelets.
"Will we?" ejaculated Dave. "Whoop!"
"Roll the fellow over!" called Dick Prescott.
With a gleeful shout the squad members rolled red-face over, dragging his powerful arms behind his back. There was a scuffle, but Coach Morton helped. A minute more and the handcuffs had been snapped in place.
In the eyes of the recent kicker, back on the field, there now appeared a gleam of something very much akin to enthusiasm.
"What do you say, now?" asked that man's companion. "Though, of course, Prescott and Holmes knew that help wasn't far off."
"It doesn't make any difference," retorted the recent kicker. "Either boy might have been killed by that big brute before the help could have arrived."