He forgot where he was, standing there with blazing eyes and colorless face. He forgot that he was only the freshman, as he had that night in the wrestling bout. He gave orders, shouted advice, spurred them on. He felt no weariness; nothing could tire him. His chance had come at last. He went into the line each time blubbering, laughing with the fierce joy of it, shouting to himself:
"I'm the weak spot, am I? I'll show them!"
And the certainty of it all overwhelmed him. Nothing could stop him now. He knew it. He was going to score. He was going to cross that line only fifteen yards away.
"Give me that ball again!" he cried to De Soto.
Then something seemed to go wrong. De Soto and Dudley were shrieking out something, protesting wildly.
"What's wrong?" he cried.
"They're calling time on us!"
"No, no, it's not possible! It's not time!"
He turned hysterically, beseechingly, catching hold of the referee's arm, not knowing what he did.