And yet many years had passed.
"Hope you're not hurt," the Dublin man said. "Came down hard."
"No, thanks, it's all right."
Olva got on to his feet. Some one cried, "Well collared, Dune."
He ran back to his place. Now there was no hesitation or confusion. A vigour like wine filled his body. The Cambridge men now were pressing; the ball was flung back to Cardillac, who threw to Olva. The Dublin line was only a few yards away and Olva was over. Lawrence kicked a goal and Cambridge had now five points to the Dublin ten.
Cambridge now awoke to its responsibilities. The Dublin men seemed to be flagging a little, and Tester and Buchan, having apparently decided that Olva was himself again, played their accustomed game.
But what had happened to Dune? There he had been his old casual superior self during the first half of the game. Now he was that inspired player that the Harlequin match had once revealed him. Whymper had spoken to him at half-time. That was what it was—Whymper had roused him.
For he was amazing. He was everywhere. Even when he had been collared, he was suddenly up, had raced after the three-quarter line, caught them up and was in the movement again. Five times the Cambridge Threes were going, were half-way down the field, and were checked by the wonderful Dublin defence. Again and again Cambridge pressed. There were only ten minutes left for play and Cambridge were still five points behind.
Somebody standing in the crowd said, "By Jove, Dune seems to be enjoying it. I never saw any one look as happy."
Some one else said, "Dune's possessed by a devil or something. I never saw anything like that pace. He doesn't seem to be watching the game at all, though."