Pearsall, confused by the opponent’s speed, tried desperately to stem the tide, tried to meet speed with speed and failed. She was still dismayed by that first act of treachery, puzzled by a foe who did the unexpected and kept on doing it. She had been assured that Manning was an exponent of old-style football who would buck the line so long as a foot rewarded her. But Manning didn’t seem to realize that Pearsall had a center and was apparently only partly aware of the existence of her guards! There was little time for conferences, for Manning leaped from the ground to position in a breath and her demoniac quarter began to cry his signals almost before the whistle had ceased! Pearsall was as nearly demoralized as it had ever been her fortune to be for several years.
Inside her thirty-yard line, according to all the rules of the game, her defense should have strengthened and the enemy’s attack slowed down. Yet nothing of the sort happened. With Pearsall’s backs close behind her line, well spread to repel end attacks, Manning again did the improbable. Le Gette fell back to kicking position and Tasker took his place in the line. Pearsall believed no try-at-goal would come on second down, and yet there was no telling what such a crazy opponent would do, and so the backs tried to be in two places at once and were quite unprepared for the quick, short heave from Stuart to Muirgart. A Pearsall back did almost spoil the pass since, scenting an end run, he had sped out at the last instant, but Muirgart pulled the ball down safely near the twenty-yard line and reached the fourteen before the frantic Pearsall back pulled him to earth.
The Blue called for time then, something she might better have done minutes before, and making no pretense of an injury to a player gathered in close conclave near the goal. A substitute end was whisked in from the Pearsall bench and was closely watched by the enemy lest he divulge instructions from his coach before the next play was over. Stuart fumed at the two-minute delay but had to put up with it. He and Jack bent and talked in panting whispers. Back up the field, the Cherry-and-Gray cohorts were chanting “Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!” From the opposite stand the Pearsall contingent was equally clamorous with its slogan “Hold ’em Pearsall! Hold ’em Pearsall!” Then the whistle piped again.
It was first down, the ball a scant yard past the fifteen and well to the left of the goal. Stuart, dripping perspiration, his heart thumping hard, reasoned that Pearsall would look for one of two things, a run around the left on the short side of the field or an attack to the right to center the ball in case a try-at-goal became necessary. What she would doubtless least expect was a straight smash at the left of the line. And so that is what Stuart called for and that is what Tasker performed. A fullback split-buck through left of center, with Tasker taking the ball from Stuart at a hand pass, with Burns and Littlefield charging to the right, with Brewton and Beeman putting the opposing guard out and Cutts heaving at the center, took the ball to the eight yards. Pearsall was shouting hoarsely, frantically, digging her cleats. The substitute end whispered his order as Stuart yelped for action.
“Come on, Manning! Play fast! Get in there, Thirsty! Signals!”
Again the ball went to Tasker, but this time a scant yard rewarded an off-tackle play on the right. Pearsall found encouragement and, when the stick was seen to move but a few feet along the side-line, a wild shout of acclaim arose from the blue-decked stand.
“Third down!” shouted the referee. “About three to go!”
“Let’s have it!” cried Stuart. “Hard, fellows, hard! Here we go! Le Gette back! Signals!”
“Bust that up!” shrieked the Pearsall captain. “Block that kick! Get through, Pearsall!”
“Watch for a fake!” shouted the Blue’s quarter anxiously.