“I’m afraid to say,” was the answer. “We’ll have to do better, or——”
“Lose,” spoke the captain, grimly.
The story of the second half of the game is shameful history to Randall. It started off fairly well, but there was fumbling, and even the presence of the big Californian, who replaced the Snail, could not avert the defeat that was in store.
Try as Randall did, she could not make the necessary gains, and the players hurled themselves against the stone wall defense of Fairview. On the other hand, the Fairview players found several holes in their opponents’ line, through which they made substantial advances with the ball.
“Hold ’em! Hold ’em!” begged Kindlings, desperately, the fear of defeat staring him in the face. His men worked like the ancient trojans, and Tom Parsons covered himself with glory twice; once when he made a sensational tackle, and saved a touchdown that seemed imminent, and again when he made a brilliant run of sixty yards, and would have scored, but for an unfortunate slip that enabled George Curtis, the Fairview left end, to nab him.
That was as near as Randall came to scoring in the second half, while Fairview made three more touchdowns, though only one resulted in a goal. The score stood twenty-two to five against Randall when she was awarded the ball for interference and offside play on the part of her eager rival, who wanted to roll up a bigger total. There was only a little time left to play, and Kindlings desperately called upon his men in every way he knew how to rally and score again.
There were desperate—aye, even tear-stained faces—among the Randall players as they lined up. Hearts were beating as though they would burst. Lungs were panting, and tired muscles fairly begged for relief. There came a great heave as the big Californian tore a hole in the Fairview line to let Pete Backus through, but Pete was almost downed in his tracks, and ere the line could be formed again, the whistle blew, and the game was over.
For a moment the struggling players could scarcely realize it, and then, as the truth broke over the Randall lads, and they heard the shouting of the great crowd—as they knew the score—twenty-two to five—they filed silently from the gridiron.
It is not writing of anything disgraceful against old Randall when I say that more than one player shed tears—bitter tears. And they were not assuaged by the hearty cheer which Fairview gave her rival.
“Now—boys, three—three cheers for Fairview!” called Kindlings brokenly, in return, and his voice was not the only one that faltered when the tiger was given.