"Billings, I'm not putting you in because I want to … it's because I have to, understand? And if you show yellow … everyone in Trumbull and everyone in the state for that matter … is going to know it."
Judd ripped off his sweater. He passed Blackwell as he went out to report to the referee. Blackwell called to him. "I'm counting on you, Judd … do it for me, old boy!"
The great Bob's younger brother had a mixture of feelings … the words of the coach had aroused him more than he had ever thought he could be aroused … and Blackwell's plea had brought to him a flash of what it really meant to forget self. If Blackwell could play as he had played with a sprained ankle when every step meant a stab of pain … if Rudolph had given his best and was even now, though injured, willing to get back into the battle … why couldn't he carry on the good fight? WHY COULDN'T HE? The question suddenly became an obsession with him. And the answer began to rise up within him … "I can … I CAN!"
The ball was on Trumbull's thirty-five yard line and last down. Barley met Billings on his way out to the team. Judd had an odd thought that Barley reminded him of a man who had stuck his head out of a sewer hole and looked at him one day. Why should he think of such a curious thing as that … at a time like this? But Barley was shouting something at him … the stands were on their feet … shouting … shouting … what were they shouting? … why! … it was HIS name!
"Come on, Billings! Get us out of this hole," pleaded Barley.
And when he said this … the haunting face of the sewer digger came back to Judd … came back in such a ludicrous light that Judd looked at Barley and laughed. Get him out of the hole? Certainly he would! The other players—grim, tired, water-soaked—saw Judd laugh. His first time under fire in the biggest game of the year … and he could laugh!
To Barley the laugh came as a ray of sunshine. His worries vanished.
Judd had the attitude of a veteran. Barley ran along the line, kicking
each linesman as the referee's whistle put the ball again in play.
"Get in there and hold that line!"
There was the sloppy crunching of body against body as the slippery ball snapped back to Billings. Judd caught it, juggled it, recovered and kicked. The ball arched skyward in a twisting spiral. Trumbull ends, making a quick get away, went stumbling and sliding down the field.
Drake stood under the punt, waiting to catch it. As he reached up to grab it a Trumbull end hit him, the slippery ball eluded his wet fingers and bounced a few feet away. The other end, closing in, dove for the ball. There was a wet mass of muddy forms disputing possession. The referee dug down to the bottom of the heap. Trumbull's ball on Canton's seventeen yard line!
The first real break in the game had favored Trumbull. Barley pounced upon Judd and hugged him happily. "Good boy, Judd … we're going to score!" The team showed new spirit. Every man was on his toes. Only seventeen yards away from a touchdown! The stands began to come to life. "Yeah, Trumbull … Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"