But it wasn’t all right. Fayette should have had the ball, and Fayette wasn’t there. Simms was still clutching it when the Broadwood left guard hurled himself through and slammed Simms to earth. Simms gave up then for a minute. Ryan came on with the pail and the big sponge, and Dan and Ridge talked together while the quarter struggled for his breath.
“We’d better have Holmes, hadn’t we?” asked Ridge through two swollen lips.
Dan shook his head, looking doubtfully at the side-line.
“No, Simms can do it if it can be done. Why, oh, why, Hal, haven’t we a fellow who can kick that ball over from here? I’d try it myself if there was a ghost of a chance. Even Norton’s off now, and he’s about the only one—”
He broke off and hurried over to Simms. The quarter was on his feet and staring rather dazedly around him.
“What’s the down, Dan?” he whispered huskily.
“Second; twelve to gain. Come back here.” He led him away. “What do you think? Forward pass? Or Number 24? Or shall we try to smash it out, Al?”
“Smashing’s—no good—now,” panted Simms. “Roeder’s the only fellow—who could get us by. Better try a forward, Dan; it’s the only chance. Isn’t it? What else can we do, Dan? There’s only a couple of minutes more, and it’s second down. Gee, Dan, I don’t want to lose this game!” Simms was almost whimpering now.
“Cut out the weeps,” said Dan brutally. “Brace up, Al. Try a forward. Give it to me and I’ll get through with it somehow!”
Simms dug a dirty knuckle into one eye, took a long breath and said quietly: “All right, Cap. We’ll get ’em yet!”