“Signal!” cried Hover anxiously.
“44—54—69—18—24! Got it?”
“Yes,” was the answer as Hover dug his toes into the turf.
“9—7—8—”
Forward plunged the backs, Evan shot the ball at Shaler, Jelly and Devens opened the hole and the play slammed through for three yards. The same play with Hover carrying the pigskin gave three more. But Adams was desperate now, almost under the shadow of her goal, and Evan knew that a line attack would not give him the rest of the distance. He debated whether to try again for a field-goal. If Hinkley made it it would probably give them the game, but Hinkley couldn’t be depended on like Deering. A forward pass the enemy would be looking for, and the chances of bringing it off successfully were slim. An end run seemed the only thing unless—!
“I’ll try it!” he told himself.
“Kick-formation!” he called. “24—87—17—41—”
Back came the ball to him and with the two halfs speeding ahead as interference he shot toward the right end of the line as though for a quarter-back run. Adams started to head him off. But when he had gone some five paces Evan slowed down and, swinging around, dropped the ball from his hands and kicked it obliquely across the field.
“Left!” he cried. “Left!”
There was no one near the ball when it came down save Brimmer, and Brimmer let it settle into his arms and started on his ten yard journey to the goal-line. Adams had been caught napping, but her quarter had not gained his reputation for nothing. He reached Brimmer three yards from that last fatal white line and bore him backwards.