“Do you think they’re on to our signals?” asked Holly Cross.
“No,” said Phil shortly. “There’s no need to change them. I’ll use the same ones.”
“Time’s almost up,” remarked the coach, looking at his watch for about the fifth time within two minutes.
To the lads it seemed as if they had not had more than a minute’s respite, but they were ready for the fray again, and there was an eagerness in the manner in which they leaped out on the gridiron which betokened that snappy playing would follow.
Nor was it long in coming. When Boxer Hall kicked off, amid the chorus of a spirited song, Kindlings caught the ball, and came back with it on such a rush, and so well protected by his teammates, that he got past the center of the field before he was downed. Then at the line went the Randall lads. Smashing through it, there was no stopping them. Right up the field they came, surprising even their own coach by their steady advance. Phil was handling the players with a skill he had never shown before. Play after play he called for, and the lads responded with vim. Even a risky on-side kick was tried and was successful. Then a forward pass netted fifteen yards, and with joy in their hearts the Randall lads saw themselves approaching their opponent’s goal-line.
“Now, boys, play like Trojans!” cried Phil heartily, this being the signal for four sequence plays. They were ripped off one after the other, so quickly that, as Holly Cross said, “it made the hair of the Boxers stand up.” For, almost before the visitors were aware of it, though they tried their best to stem the human tide, the ball was only a few feet from the line.
“Touch-down! Touch-down! Touch-down!” implored the cheering throng.
“Touch-down it shall be!” whispered Phil fiercely, and he snapped the ball to Holly Cross, who went through like a battering ram. There was a mass of players on top of him, the ball and the line. Not until they got up could it be seen if the pigskin was over. The referee rushed in. Slowly the players disentangled. The ball was over the line!
“Touch-down!” fairly screamed Tom Parsons. “Touch-down!”
His cry was echoed from the Randall grandstands, and Dutch Housenlager began a dance around the team, carrying Holly Cross, Grasshopper and the Jersey twins with him.