“Yes, sir, I’ve just come from Dobs, sir. He said I might.”
“It looks to me as though you’d been playing already. What under the sun have you been doing to your face? You ought to have something on that eye, my boy, or it will be a sight by suppertime.” His glance fell to the hand which rested on the canvas knee beside him. “Hm; I see; been mixing it up with someone, eh? Think you can do anything if I let you go in?”
“Yes, sir! I’m all right. Just give me a chance, Mr. Worden.”
The coach nodded. “All right. Warm up a bit. I guess Dyker’s about all in.”
Mr. Worden turned again to the game, and Harry, shedding his sweater even more quickly than he had wormed into it at the gymnasium five minutes before, began to limber up.
Barnstead had thrust her way onward to the Blue’s eight yards in three plays and a touchdown was imminent. The St. Matthew’s captain entreated his men to hold, to throw them back. But the Blue was weary and sore and when, on the next play, Carstairs hit the center of the line it bent inward like cardboard, and he went sprawling through it and over the last line for a touchdown. How Barnstead shouted! The players turned and went leaping back up the field, patting and thumping each other, turning handsprings in their delight. But two minutes later, when the blue-stockinged players had ranged themselves along their goal line and Norman’s toe had sent the ball away from under Peel’s finger, the joy sensibly diminished, for the pigskin floated yards from its course and passed to the left of the further upright. St. Matthew’s was still a point to the good and the blue flags across the field waved valiantly.
The quarter ended after the kick-off had been received and Norman had bounded back up the field some twenty yards. Behind the further stand the sun had dipped long since, and a mellow glow held the world. The ball was taken to its new location at the other end of the field, the teams, blanketed, panting, slowly following. Captain Corson was looking inquiringly, anxiously toward the side line. Then his unspoken question was answered. Three figures scuttled on to the gridiron; Shallcross was coming back at left end, Jones was succeeding Bob Peel at quarter and Danforth was relieving Dyker. Harry’s appearance caused only mild surprise. Corson and his players had other things to interest them than the vagaries of the faculty. All Corson said was:
“Good work, Danforth! Who’s out? Dyker? All right. Show us how you do it, kid! Any instructions?”
“Jones has them,” replied Harry, running on to report to the officials. The whistle summoned the teams again. Jones, his face alight with the inspiration given him by the coach the moment before, sang out his signals cheerily.