“I guess so. Not more than five or six minutes, I suppose. A clean forward pass might help now.”
But Simms was using his backs and Broadwood was steadily losing ground. Then came Simms’s run around the left end of the line and the ball lay on the thirty-five yards. Seven more by plunges, and time out for Stearns. Mr. Payson looked, walked up the line and called “Greene! Hurry up!” When the substitute ran up to him he only said: “All right. Send Stearns out. You know what to do. Tell Simms to plug away.”
“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to try a field goal?” asked Mr. Dana. “There can’t be more than a couple of minutes left.”
“Haven’t a man who could come within twenty feet of the bar,” replied Mr. Payson shortly.
“Not out there you haven’t,” said Mr. Dana. “But there’s a chap back there on the bench who could probably do it for you.”
Mr. Payson turned with a frown. “Who do you mean?” he asked.
“Burtis, of the Second.”
“Never heard of him. Someone’s been stringing you. Three fresh men for Broadwood, eh?” He puffed hard at his empty pipe. The whistle blew and the lines crouched again.
“No, I know what I’m talking about,” continued Mr. Dana quietly. “He’s sort of a protégé of mine. I’ve just had him back of the stand and he made two or three drops and placements of anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five, Payson.”
“What! Are you crazy, Dana?”