"Hold them!"
"Hold them!"
Two yards at a time, they were rolled back with a mathematical, unfeeling precision.
"Third down; two yards to go!"
"Yale, stop it!"
"Yale!"
And stop it they did, by a bare six inches. Behind the goal-line, Charlie De Soto came up, as he stood measuring his distance for a kick.
"How are you, Dink? Want a bit of a rest—sponge-off?"
"Rest be hanged!" he said fiercely. "Come on with that ball."
Suddenly, instead of kicking low and off to the right, he sent the ball straight down the field with every ounce of strength he could put in it. The punt, the best he had made, catching the back by surprise, went over his head, rolling up the field before he could recover it. A great roar went up from the Yale stands, fired by the spirit of resistance.