Back went the ball, but although Le Gette swung his long leg, it was Billy Littlefield who snuggled the pigskin to his stomach, put his head down and dashed like a battering-ram into the line. Before him went Burns, behind him Stuart and Le Gette. Straight at the Pearsall right guard he dashed, stopped with a grunt, dug his toes and went on again. Shouts, grunts, wild confusion of sound and movement, and then, suddenly, a wavering of the Blue defense! The line buckled, gave! Then the secondary defense piled in behind it, and the advance paused, stopped. A whistle blew.
Littlefield, void of breath but grinning, was pulled to his feet. “Fourth down! About half a yard to go!” droned the referee.
“Let’s have it!” yelled Stuart hoarsely. “Kick formation! Hold that line, Manning!” Stuart trotted back to kicking position. “Signals!” Then they came, and Cutts passed the ball back to Tasker and the big fullback ran out to the left, Burns beside him, Littlefield behind. Then came Stuart’s frantic “In! In!” and Tasker swerved to the right, Littlefield sent a Pearsall tackle toppling out of the path and, with the enemy all about him, yet, as though by a miracle, eluding them, Howdy Tasker—Fame beckoning him on—spun and twisted, dodged and side-stepped and, finally, with half the Pearsall team clutching and dragging, spurned the last line and went over!
Almost before the whistle had blown Stuart was sprinting toward the side line. “How much time is there, sir?” he demanded breathlessly of the linesman.
“Oh, you’ve got seven minutes yet!” was the reply.
Seven minutes! Then they had scored in eight, well under the coach’s allowance of ten! Stuart swung his head guard in triumph as he hurried back. Now if only he could kick the goal! Le Gette picked up the ball and took it out to the twenty-yard line, Stuart following, and slowly and cautiously lowered himself to the ground. They were still cheering, still shrieking back there on the Manning side, and for an instant the sound worried Stuart. Then he cast an anxious look at Le Gette. Save that that youth’s lungs were pumping hard, he showed no sign of perturbation.
“This ought to be easy, Stuart,” panted Le Gette reassuringly, as he pointed the ball.
“Yes,” agreed Stuart. But there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in that assent. He was wishing with all his heart that he might exchange places with the other. The old self doubt was back and he was horribly afraid. Yet he instructed Le Gette with apparent confidence, took a last look at the bar, stepped forward and kicked. Then he closed his eyes for an instant, not daring to watch the flight of the ball, and opened them only when a mighty cheer burst forth from the Manning stand!