[CHAPTER XXXV]
VICTORY—CONCLUSION
There was despondency in the quarters of the Randall players, where they gathered between the halves. Gloom sat upon the brow of every one, and the cheery words of the coach could not seem to dispel it.
“There’s only one touch-down against you,” he said. “You always play better uphill than down. Go at ’em now, and tear them apart! They play a fierce game, but you can play a fiercer! Are any of you hurt? How about you, Looper?”
“Oh, I’m all right now. It was only my wind. I’ve got it back. They won’t get through me again,” declared the Snail.
“I hope not. You’re too fat; that’s what’s the trouble. How are you holding out, Clinton?” and the coach turned anxiously to the quarter-back. Phil was pacing up and down the dressing-room. There was a strained look on his face, and his hand was inside his blouse, where his fingers touched a crumpled paper. He did not seem to have heard Mr. Lighton’s question. The coach repeated it.
“Me? Why, I—I guess I can last the game out,” said Phil slowly.
“Last the game out? Why, are you hurt?” The coach was a bit disturbed.
“No. Of course not. It was just my way of speaking. It’s all right—it’s all right,” and Phil resumed his pacing of the narrow quarters.
“Guess he feels that we’re going to lose,” whispered Dutch Housenlager to Tom. But Tom shook his head. There was something else the matter with Phil, and he wondered what it was.