"It's in!" yelled Lyon, at the top of his voice. "Hurrah!"
Justice at last—poetic justice! Dick Forge had scored his long-deferred goal, and it was not in St. Cuthbert's power to draw level in the few minutes that remained for play. Far from seeming likely to, they were penned up in their own quarters for the rest of the time, a spent force, beaten and knowing it. To Foxenby, finishing with ten men only, had gone the hard-earned spoils of victory.
The referee's whistle blew for time—a shrill blast that was sweeter than concert-music to Foxes everywhere. Then "snap" went the frayed ropes, and the frantic crowd swarmed over the field to become closer acquainted with the heroes of the match.
But Bessingham and Lyon, two stalwart young giants, forestalled them there. Tackling Dick, in Rugby fashion, before he could escape, they hoisted him on to their shoulders and carried him to the pavilion, where Lady Maingay stood smilingly ready to present him with the County Schools' Cup. Meanwhile, his arms grew hot in their sockets through the grabbing enthusiasts who sought the honour of shaking a victor's hand. Now and again a well-known face bobbed up in the crowd to gladden him with smiling appreciation. Roger Cayton, featherweight though he was, somehow got near enough to wave before his eyes the latest issue of the Rooke's House Rag. Dick understood the inner meaning of the sign, and the chums exchanged joyous looks. What happy days of co-editorship there would be in the sunny days to come!
It was a crowded hour of glory for the Merry Men and the Squirms too. Sufficiently revived by this time, Robin was hauled out of the dressing-room and borne shoulder-high to the presentation ceremony. The Squirms carried Osbody in the same way, and the presence of the eager-faced youngsters was enjoyed by the officials as a pleasant bit of by-play.
"Put me down, you chumps!" stormed Robin. "You're shaking my teeth loose. I didn't score that equalizer. It just hit my thick head and buzzed back."
"Shut up about that, Robin," cried Little John. "No need to tell everybody you fluked it. You scored, and that's enough!"
"Rather!" said David of Doncaster. "Hold him right up, Merry Men, where everybody can see him. Good old Robin!"
Lady Maingay, as wholeheartedly a supporter of St. Cuthbert's as she was of Foxenby, made a tactful speech that flattered both victors and vanquished. Then she handed the bulged Cup (a veteran of twenty seasons, older than any player who had battled for it that day) to Foxenby's captain, who found making a speech even harder than scoring a goal had been.
"Your ladyship—ladies and gentlemen—I am a duffer at talking," he began, "but I am not afraid to say that I'm the proudest chap in the county to-day." (Cries of "Bravo, Forge!" "Played, sir!") "There never was a straw to choose between us and St. Cuthbert's, but both sides couldn't win. If old Bessingham could have cut himself into two parts (laughter) and had been a forward as well as a full-back, we never should have won. Bessingham is a marvel. Bessingham is a brick. Three cheers for the Octopus and his wonderful team, you Foxes!"