Indeed, for the past ten minutes one continuous roar of delighted cheering had accompanied Foxenby's sparkling bombardment of the St. Cuthbert's goal. Excellent shots went astray by fractions of inches only. Broome twice nearly did damage to the cross-bar, and one crafty "balloon" from Forge, over the heads of a bobbing mass of players, was scooped out of the top angle of the goal by the keeper's finger-tips only. Hundreds of hoarse throats yelled "Goal!" prematurely. It was only a corner, which tall Bessingham, the six-foot captain of St. Cuthbert's, leapt high to head away.
"Whose toes are you jumping on, clumsy?" grumbled the Junior Cuthbertian, sourly.
"Sorry, Cuthy—I couldn't help it," Robin confessed. "Simply can't keep still. It's our turn for a song and dance this half, you know."
"Laugh when you've beaten old 'Bess', not before," Cuthy cautioned him.
There was something in the warning, too. A wonderful boy this reed-like, overgrown Bessingham, with arms always straight to his sides, and legs that seemed everywhere. He could use either foot with equal power, and when his boot caught the ball he made kicking against the wind seem as simple as kicking with it.
St. Cuthbert's called him "The Octopus", and by that nickname he was known also to certain Football League Clubs, who wanted him to play for them when he left school.
A weird, silent player, ever where the ball was, never seeming to take a useless stride. Those who saw him to-day ceased to marvel at St. Cuthbert's feat in reaching the final tie without yielding a goal. The seventeen-year-old footballer was a man in all but age, with the cool judgment of a veteran to guide his restless legs.
"Botheration, I can't dodge him!" panted Broome to Dick. "Did you see us mixed together just now? His legs were round my neck. It—it's clammy—like having snakes crawling over you."
"We've something to learn from him, Broome," said Dick. "Single combat won't pay us. We must work round his flanks."
"Flanks! Why, he faces all ways," Broome groaned. "Superman, eh! Chuck that, Broome—we've got to hammer away till we find his weak spot. Nothing to fear from the forwards, the wind has them in a bottle-neck. Let's drop this first-time shooting stunt, and try a bit of conjuring."