"A foul!" cried Dick, and reported to the umpire what he had witnessed. But that official had seen nothing, or at least said he had not.
"Watch 'em!" warned Dick to his players, while Paul had some wind pumped back into him.
"Can you play?" asked Mr. Martin.
"Yes—of course!" was the half-fierce reply.
Once more came a smashing attack at the unfortunate left guard. His opponents had discovered his weakness. Though he was not struck, the attack was so merciless that he could do nothing, and he had to be carried off the field, his weak condition being partly responsible, for his stomach still troubled him.
"Get in the game, Natron," called Dick, to the substitute guard, and then the Blue Hill attack was directed on the other side of the Kentfield line. But there Innis Beeby was ready for them, and he tackled his man with such fierceness that time had to be taken out to restore his half-scattered senses.
"They won't try any more slugging here," said the right guard grimly.
But Blue Hill was evidently "out for blood," and the slugging went on. The umpire saw it once, and ordered the offender out of the game.
All this while, however, the ball had been steadily advanced toward the Kentfield goal, and after Tom Coleton had been knocked out, giving Porter a chance to get back on his old position of left end, the advance was even faster.
Then, in one black and disheartening moment, came the fatal play. It was around Porter's end, in spite of the desperate effort Hal Foster made to tackle the man, the ball was touched down, and the goal kicked.