"Get in there, fellows, and block that kick! Block that kick!"
The sidelines took up the frenzied cry.
Drake's hands closed upon the ball, he raised it shoulder high and let it drop, his muddy foot came up to meet it … but just at that instant a body shot against him … there was the hollow plunk of a ball striking a rather soft object and a mad scramble of flying forms.
When the referee had pulled the players apart he found Fenstermaker,
Trumbull guard, lying face down upon the ball. Trumbull's ball on
Canton's eleven yard line … and fifty seconds left to play!
Judd knew that he was not capable of carrying the ball another foot.
He instinctively realized that Canton would repulse any effort that
Trumbull might make at running with the ball. The time was too
desperately short.
Then, in a flash, there came to him the vision of practice sessions he had held with Burton, second team quarterback. Burton knew how to handle the ball, how to place it to his liking. If Burton were only in the game….
Judd spoke a few quick words to Barley and Barley … loyal son of Trumbull … called time out so that Burton could come into the game … and substitute for him.
Everyone knew what was going to be attempted. Burton came racing out to Judd who had picked out the spot where he was to attempt the place kick. Three points would just win if Trumbull could make them. But the field was so soggy and the footing so uncertain. Besides … the heavy clouds had brought dusk upon the field prematurely.
Judd removed his cap and took out the piece of white paper. He unfolded it and laid it flat upon the ground, then stepped back a few paces and Burton knelt, with hands extended, over the paper. The seconds seemed like hours.
"Hold that line!" Judd begged of the linesmen. But he need not have urged this … tired though they were, they could be depended upon to give their all now.