The injured player limped back into line, and the game went on. Smash! bang! came the Randall players, and they went up to the ten-yard line with scarcely a stop. In vain did the cohorts of Boxer Hall implore them to brace. It seemed that they could not. But, just as it looked for all the world as if the ball would be carried over by Holly Cross, for it was decided to smash through and not kick, the brace did come, and the Randall players had to give up the pigskin. In a jiffy Captain Stoddard had punted out of danger. There was an exchange of kicks, and it ended with Boxer getting the ball on her forty-yard line.
Then, all at once, a new spirit seemed infused into her players. They came at Randall with a viciousness that argued well for their spirit. It was rough work, not noticeable, perhaps, but Tom felt that what he feared was about to happen; that some plan was afoot to injure Phil. He played in as far as he dared, but the opposite end was constantly drawing him out.
At the line came Lamson, the Boxer right-half. He ripped out five yards, bowling over Sam Looper with such force that the Snail had to have a little medical treatment. He barely recovered in the two minutes, and was a bit wobbly when the attack was again directed at him. But Holly Cross and Jerry Jackson leaped in to his aid, and stopped the advance. Then Boxer went around right-end, and had ten yards before they were stopped. The game looked to be going the other way now, and there were strained looks on the faces of the Randall players and their supporters. As for the cheering contingent of Boxer Hall, they made the air ring with their song: “It’s Time We Did a Little Business Now!”
“Don’t let ’em get through you. Hold ’em! Hold ’em!” cried Holly. “Brace up, boys!”
Randall tried to, but Boxer had found a weak place between Snail Looper and Grasshopper Backus, and kept hammering away at it, until they had advanced the ball to the fifteen-yard line. Then Boxer Hall played a neat trick. There was every indication that a try for a field goal was about to be made, and Holly Cross got back. Instead, there was a double pass, and a play between tackle and right-end. Through the Randall line burst Frothon, the right-tackle, with the ball tucked under his arm. Holly Cross saw him just in time, and made a dive for him. But the Randall full-back’s foot slipped, and he went down, making a vain grab for Frothon, who sped on, and planted the ball behind the goal posts. Boxer Hall had made the first touch-down, and the crowd of supporters went wild, while there was corresponding gloom on the grandstands where Randallites were gathered. The goal was missed, and a scrimmage had hardly begun after the next kick-off before the whistle blew. The half was up.
What a buzz of excitement there was in the grandstands! Every one seemed talking at once.
“That was hard lines,” remarked Ford Fenton to Sid, next to whom he was sitting. “If our fellows had only been a little quicker then, this would never have happened. My uncle says——”
“Fenton!” exclaimed Sid so fiercely that Ford almost turned pale, “if you mention ‘uncle’ again during this game, I’ll throw you off the grandstand,” and, as Fenton was rather high up, he concluded to keep quiet.