"Tucker, you take Hillard's place, and see if we can't do something. Here we are, only three weeks from our last game, and you are playing like a perfectly lovely eleven from the Mount Hope Female Seminary. Think a little about the game, and squeeze that ball, PLEASE."
The coach took the ball from Tompkins, and started up the field, the whole crowd of players straggling along behind him, the First eleven sour in face and heavy in step, the Second grinning broadly.
"There, now," said Horton, putting the ball down at midfield again with a good deal more force than was necessary. "Let's have some football. First eleven's ball. Make it go. You've got to carry it from here, don't kick it, carry it. Make it go," and he jumped out of the way as the two lines crashed together.
"That's something like it. Second down, two yards to go. Some more like that."
"Big Dutton carried it that time," said Patterson to Frank. "That big fellow with the light hair. He's the best plunger on the field, but he's something of a bonehead, and he can't remember the signals. Poor Horton has his own worries with him. There he goes again."
"First down," yelled Horton from the field. "That's going. Squeeze that ball, Dutton. Steady in the line there and keep on side. Wait till the ball is snapped, Burnham. Wait till the ball is snapped—there, what did I tell you?" as Burnham, the right tackle, anticipating the signal, plunged ahead. Little Hopkinson, quarter of the Second, had his hand up and was yelling for the penalty, which he got.
"Now, First team, you've got to make that loss up this time." Harding, the captain, stepped out of his place at guard, in the line, and conferred with Dixon a minute.
"It's going to be a long pass, I'll bet dollars to shoelaces," said the Wee One, as the lines settled down on their toes.
"22—16—34—146," shouted Dixon. There was a quick pass from center, and the quarter, turning half-way round, tucked the ball cleverly in the right half's pocketed arms as he went shooting past him. The half ran straight out, seemingly bent on turning in at the first possible moment. But this little ruse was only to draw the fire of the opponents who came charging at him. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, stepped backwards and threw the ball unerringly to the right end who had edged away out toward the side line at the proper time, entirely unnoticed by the Second backs who had been drawn over. The catch was clearly made, by Campbell, and he was away like a breeze, with no one near him. Hopkinson came up on him hard, a little too hard for safety, and he was easily sidestepped by the fleet-footed end who, though hard pressed, eluded all tackles and carried the ball over. It was a pretty piece of work, and the coach, for once, seemed to be satisfied.
"Now, that's what I call pretty football," exclaimed Frank. "I thought you said this team was no good."