"You lose," said Gleason, "Warwick got it and Channing's taking the wind at his back. Oh, my, oh, my! That's bad, right off the bat."
The Warwick captain had elected to take the wind, and the breeze now blowing would be a considerable help to him. The sun affected neither, as the football field lay nearly north and south.
"There we go," cried Frank, as a piercing whistle announced the beginning of hostilities.
CHAPTER XVII.THE GREAT FOOTBALL GAME.
From the powerful toe of Mitchell, the right guard on the Warwick eleven, the ball, which he had carefully set at the center of the field, went flying directly between the goal posts. It was a wonderful kick, and a great yell rose from the Warwick sympathizers, who believed that Warwick had scored so soon.
"What are they shouting about?" said the Codfish, contemptuously. "They'd better read the rule book. It isn't a score."
"It went between the posts, fair and square," said David.
"Oh, but you can't score a goal from a kick-off," said Frank. "The ball will have to come back,—there, you see the referee is bringing it back to the center of the field. Mr. Mitchell will have to do it over again."