"For the sake of the old college," urged Dick.
Bert stiffened.
"Watch me," he said.
It was a perfect snap from Tom to Dick, who passed it to Bert so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow it. At the same instant Drake and Axtell opened up a hole between left guard and tackle and Bert ploughed through it like an unchained cyclone. The whole "Maroon" team was on him in an instant, but the fearful headway of his charge had carried him through nine of the coveted twelve yards and the goal post loomed almost directly overhead.
"Buck up, fellows, buck up," screamed Halliday wildly. "For heaven's sake, brace!"
Bert's head was buzzing with the impact of that mighty plunge, but his eyes blazed with the light of coming triumph.
"Not an inch, boys, not an inch," yelled Halliday. "Throw them back. It's their last down."
But their hour had struck. Once more the ball was passed and, charging hard and low, Bert went into the line. The "Maroons" hurled themselves savagely against him, but a regiment could not have stopped him. He crumpled them up and carried the fragments of the broken line on his head and shoulders, coming at last to the ground five yards over the goal for the touchdown. And the Blue stands promptly went stark raving mad.
Bruised and dizzy but smiling, Bert rose to his feet. At that moment he would not have changed places with an emperor.
The ball was carried out to the twenty-five yard line and Dick, lying flat on the ground, steadied it for the kick. Bert took careful aim and lifted it unerringly over the goal. It had scarcely touched the ground when the whistle blew and the game was over. The Blues had triumphed, ten to nothing, but only after a desperate battle that left the "Maroons" vanquished, but not disgraced. Their gallant foes gave them a rousing cheer that was returned by the victors with interest.