Kapenhysen was sent hurtling against the left of the Brewer line, but Brewer was desperate now and a scant yard was the best he could do. Again the signals and again the backs took their places. But this time the ball went past Loring and into the hands of Capes. Loring, Kapenhysen and Connor set off around their own right end. The Brewer backs started to intercept them. And so no one paid much attention to a slim blue figure that slipped between the Brewer right end and tackle and was now trotting with upraised hand five yards back of their line.
Then, “[Forward pass!]” shouted the Brewer quarter frantically. But already the ball was in flight, for Capes, after feinting to the right, had turned and run to the left until behind his tackle and from there had made a low throw across the line to where Dan awaited.
The Brewer right half saw his error and turned back, but he was too late. The ball fell, lazily revolving, into Dan’s arms, and, tucking it away, Dan sprang toward the goal-line, but a few short strides away. A despairing effort by the Brewer quarter sent Dan staggering aside, but the next moment he was over the line, over it and still circling toward the goal-posts. He never quite centered the ball, for three Brewer players tackled him together and brought him heavily to earth. But, although his head was filled for an instant with a multitude of stars, he held the ball and cried “Down” as loudly as he could with several hundred pounds of dead weight on top of him and someone’s elbow boring itself viciously into his face.
He heard Loring crying: “Get off of him, you brutes! Get off, get off!” and then there was daylight once more and he rolled over on his back and fought for breath. Loring stooped over him and pumped his arms and Dan smiled as cheerfully as he might and finally managed to assure the quarter that he was “all right, thanks.”
What if Kapenhysen did miss as easy a goal as one could wish? The game was won! Five to two was as much a victory as heart could desire that day! There was an exchange of punts, a scramble down the field by Connor that put thirty-five yards behind him, and then the whistle!
“Let’s get out of here as quick as we can,” panted Colton. There was a cheer for Brewer and then they raced for the dressing room. And glad they were to reach it, for the Brewerites were disappointed and angry and quite ready for mischief. By the time they were dressed, the field was well-nigh empty and only around the gates were any hostilities hinted at. A crowd of loiterers jeered them as they climbed into the coach and, just as they moved away, a piece of wood was thrown. It wasn’t very large but it happened to hit Mr. Austin on the side of the head. Stevie forgot his decorum on the instant, forgot that he was a “chaperone,” forgot that he was there to maintain order. Before Mr. Payson could interfere Stevie was out of the coach and striding back toward the group at the gate.
“Fool!” muttered Payson as he leaped out after him.
The players yelled to the driver to stop and one after another they tumbled out and ran back. But, strange to say, the group at the gate was no longer there. It had dissolved as though by magic. Here and there were to be seen figures ambling disinterestedly away, but at the gate was only Stevie, looking disappointedly about him, and Payson, trying to drag him back.