“Thirty-one! Sixty-four!” cried Simms. “Seventeen! Eight—”
Back came the ball to his hands. He turned it end up, canted it a trifle, settled it to earth. Kendall stepped forward. He had forgotten that the enemy, desperate and determined, were waiting to throw themselves upon him. He only saw the ball and, dimly, the whitewashed posts straight ahead. The lines broke. Broadwood came rushing through. Canvas rasped against canvas. Inarticulate cries filled the air. Kendall’s toe met the ball squarely below the lacing. Somebody plunged against him and he went over backward.
[But the ball went true], safe over the upstretched hands of the leaping Broadwood forwards, [straight up and up], turning leisurely in its flight, [over the crossbar]!
Later, when Kendall, somewhat dazed, sat again on the bench with a dozen fellows questioning and laughing about him, the game paused a moment and Arthur Thompson, throwing off his blanket and sweater, limped onto the field to play the final thirty seconds and win his Y.
And then it was all over, and Yardley, triumphant, dizzy with joy, cavorted over the battleground and tossed hats and caps over the crossbars, while the Greenburg Band thumped out a brazen march of victory!
THE END
By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
YARDLEY HALL SCHOOL STORIES