An excited cry directed Judd's attention back to the play of the moment. The Trumbull line had faltered and the Canton backfield was through with Drake again carrying the ball. Judd saw Barley brushed aside as he dove for the runner. Rudolph, the last line of defense, came dashing in and threw himself at the Canton fullback as he crossed the goal line. Drake spun around and fell heavily over the goal, landing solidly upon his tackler. A mighty cheer went up from the Canton rooters—a cheer which died out in a sudden hush when it was seen that the tackler did not rise. Trumbull players gathered about Rudolph. "Water! Water!" A boy near Judd picked up a pail and went racing out on the field, dabbing a sponge in it as he ran. Judd stared dumbly at Burton, who said: "That's tough! … Looks like Rudie's out!"
They carried Rudolph from the field and Blackwell went limping out to take his place. The Canton team lined up for the try at goal. Rudolph was regaining his senses and struggling to be in action again. Judd leaned over toward him. "You're out of it, old man," he said, soothingly. Judd thought this remark would be a great relief to one who had received such a jolt as Rudolph. But Rudolph only glared at him as another cheer told plainly that Canton had kicked goal. Score seven to nothing … favor of Canton. Referee's whistle! First quarter up.
The teams exchanged goals and Canton kicked off to Trumbull. Barley caught the ball on his fifteen yard line and ran it back seven yards before a Canton linesman struck him down on a pretty tackle. Blackwell, taking the ball on the first play, made a limping plunge around right end for a three yard gain. He was given a resounding cheer for his gameness. Two more downs and Trumbull was forced to punt. Blackwell went back and tested his footing in the mud. He shifted his weight carefully to his left foot and booted the ball, but his kick lacked the power it ordinarily contained. The punt carried a scant thirty yards and the Canton halfback who caught it came charging toward the Trumbull goal to Trumbull's twenty-eight yard line. Several attempts to tackle this elusive runner were thwarted by the slippery condition underfoot.
With the ball in Canton's possession again the relentless pound, pound, pound against Trumbull's line began anew. Despite heroic attempts of Trumbull linesmen to stop the advance, the heavier Canton line pushed and shoved and forced its way through, making a path for the seemingly tireless Drake who had been nicknamed "Mud Scow" by an ingenious Canton yell leader.
Eleven minutes of the second quarter were gone when "Mud Scow" Drake went over for the second touchdown. Judd had watched Trumbull for every foot of the water-soaked territory. He had seen Blackwell, on three different occasions, stop the slashing, slipping drive of Drake … had seen these two go down in a sea of mud … had seen Blackwell get up each time a little slower … had seen the undaunted determination upon his dirt-smeared face. And when the Canton team lined up joyously for their second try at goal after touchdown, Judd saw that Blackwell was crying … crying in unashamed fashion … perhaps he wasn't even conscious that he was crying. This was all so puzzling to Judd. He had thought of himself first in everything. He could not comprehend exactly why Blackwell should be so concerned … unless he were hurt … and suffering! It did not dawn upon him what Blackwell was actually thinking … that Blackwell, in his last year at school, felt himself unable to do his best … sensed his inability to put the punch in the team … to restore its shattered confidence … shattered because of Canton's powerful, battering attack.
The first half ended with the ball on Trumbull's ten yard line and
Canton just that far away from a third touchdown! Score, Canton 14;
Trumbull 0. Drake's well trained toe had added the extra point after
the second touchdown also.
"So far the game looks like a one man offensive and the advantage of weight," Coach Little told his players between halves. "Stop this fellow Drake and you'll stop their drive. They're using him because they have to depend upon straight football and he's the strongest man in their backfield. The chances are that Canton will play a defensive game from now on and you must take the offensive in order to win. You've got everything against you today but one thing … and that's spirit. Any team that can put up the fight you have out there every minute of the half need not be discouraged. Don't think about the score. Concentrate on every play … put everything you have in it … and the score will take care of itself…"
The coach sent the same lineup back into the game.
Rudolph, swathed in blankets, sat near Judd, who watched him out of the corner of his eye. He noticed that Rudolph kept his attention centered on every move of the game. Canton kicked off, and it was Trumbull's ball on Trumbull's thirty yard line. Rudolph's lips moved at each calling of the signals. Judd unconsciously got to doing the same thing. Every time Blackwell's number was called he imagined that he was Blackwell and followed the play through in his mind. Blackwell was holding up … he was good for short gains almost every time he took the ball. But after each run he dragged himself back into position and scraped the mud from his feet as though each sticking clod held him back.
Rudolph nudged Judd after a play in which Blackwell's fatigue was most evident. "You'll get your chance pretty soon … he's about all in!"