Benz, captain, conferred with Melvin, Pennington captain. The referee tossed a coin. Melvin won the toss and chose to receive the kickoff. Benz selected the north goal for Bartlett to defend. The two teams lined up quickly. An avalanche of sound came from the spectators.
"Are you ready?" shrieked the referee to the Pennington captain.
Melvin raised his hand in the affirmative.
"Ready, Bartlett?"
But Benz was crouching, tying up a shoe lace, preparatory to kicking, and trying to overcome his nervousness. This prolonged the tenseness.
After an age, it seemed, he straightened up; the referee raised his arm; the Bartlett men leaned forward, expectantly; the whistle screeched; Benz booted the ball; and the great game was on!
It was a splendid kickoff. The ball rose, spinning like a top and with enough impetus to send it far down the field.
Knapp, Pennington quarterback, captured the pigskin on his fifteen yard line and dodged in behind his quickly formed interference. For five,—ten,—fifteen yards he ran; his advance guard toppling man after man who attempted to reach him!
The crowd was on its feet, howling like mad!
"Stop him!" shrieked the Bartlett stands.