Colton appealed to the umpire, declaring that Brewer had started before the ball was in play, but the umpire refused to allow the protest. The score was two points to nothing in Brewer’s favor and there remained seven minutes of playing time. Yardley looked somewhat disconsolate as it lined up for the kick-off, all save Colton. He was as cheerful as ever, or seemed to be. Over on the side-lines the triumphant shouts of the Brewer adherents rang lustily, drowning completely the pathetic attempts of Yardley’s followers.
Kapenhysen booted the leather and the teams raced back up the field. It was a splendid kick and covered all of fifty yards, but it was a little too low and Brewer came charging back with the ball and had regained fifteen yards before Connor nailed the runner. Brewer now was playing for time. The ball was near her fifty-yard-line and she began a series of slow plunges at the line, using up all the time she could. For nearly twenty yards she made progress, hitting one side of the Blue’s line after the other. Then came a run around Yardley’s right end that netted a good ten yards. Mr. Austin walked out and announced that five minutes remained.
“We’ve got to get the ball, fellows,” cried Colton imploringly as he limped along the line and clapped the players on the back. “Now hold them right here!”
The ball was back on Yardley’s thirty-five-yard-line and the watchers looked for another score. But Yardley braced and after two downs had gained her but four yards Brewer punted. Clapp caught the ball and started back through a broken field. For a moment it seemed that he might get away, but after he had cut off some twenty yards he was thrown near the middle of the gridiron. The tackle was such a fierce one that the ball bounded from his arms and went rolling on as though determined to reach the Brewer goal-line unaided. There was a rush for it, and Dickenson fell on it, found his feet again and set off. Twice he was tackled but each time he managed to squirm loose. Ten yards, fifteen yards, twenty! Then a big Brewer half-back caught up with him and brought him down. The whistle blew.
Back near the center of the field Clapp was rolling and kicking. Andy Ryan was beside him in a moment, sponge in hand, and presently he was led off the field, weak and limp, protesting feebly. The little band of Yardley supporters cheered him gloriously, and then, the next instant, were cheering again, this time for Loring, who, fitting his head-guard in place, was running toward his team. What a reception he got from them! Colton hugged him and Hadlock beat him weakly on the shoulders. The others grinned wearily at him and straightened their aching backs again. Loring and Folsom whispered together. Then the team was drawn back and, amidst the hoots of the enemy, stood for a minute closely clustered and listened to Loring’s words. Finally,
“All right now, fellows!” called Loring cheerfully, clapping his hands. “Let’s have a touchdown out of this. They’re half dead already! Look at ’em! Come on now and get busy!”
The ball was near Brewer’s thirty yards. A plunge through tackle made it twenty-eight. Then Connor was sent outside of right tackle with the whole field of backs behind him and shoved and fought his way through for six yards more. Third down and two to go. Full-back and the two halves lined up as though for a tandem on right guard, the ball was passed, the backs plunged forward and Loring set off around the opponent’s left end with the ball tucked under his arm. Dickenson put the opposing end out of business and then sped after Loring. The run was short but it netted seven yards, and when the Brewer left half had been pulled off of him Loring jumped up with a shake of his head and piped the next signal.
“First down,” said the referee.
Only fifteen yards between them and a score! And only two minutes to play!