"That's it!" cried the captain gleefully.
On the side lines the coaches watched the struggle.
"I'm afraid they're too much for 'em," murmured Mr. Martin regretfully.
"Yes, perhaps, but the game is young yet, and it's full of chances. Besides, did you note the brace they took?"
"Yes—it's great—we'll have a fine team before the season is over."
Smash and bang went the attack on Dick's line. He did all that mortal captain could do to infuse some of his own strength and courage into his men, but it seemed that it was not to be. Down the field the ball was rushed until it was within thirty yards of the Kentfield goal.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!" demanded the crowd in sympathy with Haskell.
"Hold boys, hold!" yelled the Kentfield adherents and they sang cheering songs and gave their school war-cries.
"Don't let 'em through!" almost tearfully pleaded Dick, though it seemed that a score was inevitable. "Brace! Brace!"
Once more a hammer-like attack, and the ball was on Kentfield's twenty-two yard line. Then it looked as if at the next play either a try for goal would be made, or that some lucky player on Haskell would smash through and dodge his way to a touchdown.