Mack was thumped joyously on the back by fellow players as he staggered back in position, holding his side. He had held onto the ball at all costs and despite a scrambled attempt on the ground to wrest it away from him.
With only time for about two plays, Quarterback Henley called for a pass. Frank Meade faded back and shot a long one. Mack, breaking through with other possible receivers, had not expected to be singled out, but wheeled just in time—after getting free—to hear the crowd yell and see the pigskin coming straight at him. He reached up and picked it out of the air on Pomeroy's twenty-five yard line, being hit before he could move by Dizzy Fox.
"Yea, Carver!" yelled the stands.
Mack, all but bewildered by the way plays had revolved about him, was pushed into the huddle as time-keepers consulted their watches.
"What'll it be?" demanded Bert. "Shall we chance another pass?"
"A field goal would do it?" cried Steve, with a glance at the scoreboard. "But Frank's toe hasn't been so hot today!"
"We've only time for one more play," reminded Bert. "Can you fellows hold that line? Seems to me a kick's a little better than another pass. We're almost dead in front of the goal posts!"
"I'll try it if you say so!" volunteered Frank. "Mack—you've got to block 'em off until I toe that ball! They mustn't get through at me this time!"
"Okay!" said Mack, jaws tightening. Here was the test. A successful kick meant defeat for his brother ... no, defeat for Pomeroy! It meant that all scores against him would be wiped out ... his misplays forgotten...! ... But how about his brother's coaching position?... He mustn't think about that!... His mother—her support!... No, no!... Whatever happened would be all right.... He must do his part ... he must be loyal to Grinnell. He'd picked this school with the hope of someday helping to beat Pomeroy ... and here was his chance!... He must do his part to the uttermost limit ... and then—if the kick failed ... well—nobody could say he hadn't tried...!
"Kick formation!" Bert was calling.