“Hurry up,” said the referee impatiently.
“You’ve got two minutes more,” cried the timer, running up, watch in hand.
“All right here,” said Dan. “Now, fellows, get into this and make it go! You’ve got to do it! They’re half dead already! They can’t stop you! They can’t stop you! Look at them! They’re beaten now and they know it!”
“We’d be dead for sure if bluff counted,” growled Bishop, as he edged along in front of Dan.
The whistle blew.
Simms laid his hand on Fogg’s back and raised his voice huskily: “Twenty-seven—twenty-one—fifteen—thirty-three—”
“Hold on!” cried Greene. “Here’s a sub coming!”
Simms straightened up again. Onto the field raced a youth in a pair of long gray trousers and a blue sweater.
“What’s the matter?” cried Dan impatiently. Simms nodded.
“Substitute for right half, sir!” cried the newcomer.