"You fellow on the end there!" cried Andy. "Play back further and stop that tackle!"
"Watch for a forward pass!" warned a second squad back. "Spread out, Billy!"
"Hold 'em!" shouted Carmine.
Then came the signals, back sped the ball—a poor pass—the second came tearing through, Carmine dropped the ball and swung his leg and away it floated. A second squad back caught it near the side-line, tucked it under his arm and started back. The third squad's right end had been blocked and now, eager to make up for lost time, he overran and missed his tackle entirely and the second's back came speeding up the field near the side-line, a hastily-formed interference guarding him well. Ten yards, fifteen, twenty, and then Carmine wormed through and brought the runner to earth.
"That's one on you, right end," said Andy sternly. "You got boxed to the king's taste that time. Now, third, see what you can do on the defence."
"Draw your line in, Carmine," called Marvin. "Look where you are, man! The ball's almost on the twenty yards! Peters, close up there! Now push 'em back, third!"
"Who's that right end, Dick?" asked Andy of Marvin.
"Chap named Holt. He isn't very good."
"How would it do to try Edwards there? He looks clever."
"That's his position, Andy, but the kid can't tackle. I'll give him a try, though. That's rotten, third! Blaisdell, where were you then? For the love of mud, man, watch the ball! Five yards right through you! Now get back there and stop them!"