It was now the turn of the scrub to see what they could do, and they quickly formed over the pigskin, while their quarter-back called off the signals. At the sturdy line of the ’varsity, they plunged, trying to tear a hole between the left guard and tackle. They had quickly found the weakness of Pete, and Bert Bascome was not a tried warrior of the gridiron. The scrub penetrated for a couple of yards, and then, seeing what the danger was, the other players massed their strength there, and stopped the advance of the man with the ball.
Again the scrub hurled themselves against the line, trying on the other side this time. They could not gain, and Joe Jackson dropped back to receive the kick he expected would come.
But the scrub’s quarter gave the signal for a fake punt, and when the ’varsity had spread out, the right half-back was sent forward with the ball. But they did not gain what they expected, for Kindlings, ever on the alert for a play like that, was watching, and, cleverly dodging through the interference, he downed the man with the ball in a fierce tackle. The scrub had gained their distance, however, and still had possession of the pigskin.
“Hold ’em this time!” begged the captain, as he got rid of some dirt that had been ground into his mouth under his nose-guard.
And hold the ’varsity did after that. Not an inch could the scrub gain, for the wall in front of them was like stone, and they were relentlessly hurled back. Twice they tried it, and on the third down they kicked—no fake affair now.
The ’varsity had the ball again. Phil did not try Pete this time, but gave the leather to Sid, who, like an old time warrior, lowered his head and plunged into the line for three yards.
“Come on! Come on!” yelled Phil, pushing and pulling on his chum to help him through. There was a mass of crowding, struggling players all about Sid. The scrub, with desperate energy, tried to stem the progress of the human tide. Still Sid worked on, worming to get every inch, and he broke through the scrub line, staggered on and on, and when he was finally downed, with half a dozen of the players clinging to him like hounds to a stag, he had gained three yards, through a hard defense.
“Wow! Wow!” yelled Bean Perkins.
“That’s what I ought to have done, I suppose,” murmured Pete, regretfully, as he saw what a gain Sid had made.
“Oh, you’ll do it yet,” said Tom consolingly. “It takes a little practice. Those fellows are out for blood to-day. A lot of them are hoping to get on our team.”