The Benton team used all allowable methods to waste time. The timekeeper hovered nearby, his eyes darting from the galloping hand of his watch to the players. "Twenty-nine seconds," he responded to Tom Hall's question. Carmine clapped his hands impatiently.
"Signals now! Make this good! Left tackle over! 27—57—88—16! Hep! 27—57—88——"
The backs swung obliquely to the right, Carmine dropped from sight, his back to the line, Benton's left side was borne slowly away, fighting hard, and confusion reigned. Then Carmine whirled around, sprang, doubled over, through the scattered right side of the enemy's line, challenged only by the end, who made a desperate attempt at a tackle but failed, and, with only the opposing quarter between him and the goal line, raced like the wind. About him was a roaring babel of sound, voices urging him on, shouts of dismay, imploring shrieks from behind. Then the quarter was before him, crouching with out-reached hands, a strained, anxious look on his dirt-streaked face.
They met near the twenty-yard line. The Benton quarter launched himself forward. Carmine swung to the left and leaped. A hand groped at his ankle, caught, and Carmine fell sprawling to the turf. But he found his feet like a cat, wrenched the imprisoned ankle free and went staggering, stumbling on. Again he fell, on the five-yard line, and again the Benton quarter dived for him. But Carmine was not to be stopped with the line only five short yards away. He wrested himself to his feet again, the arms of the Benton quarter squirming about his knees, plunged on a stride, dragging the enemy with him, found his legs locked firmly now, struggled desperately and then flung himself sidewise toward the last white streak. And as he fell his hands, clasping the ball, reached forward and a whistle blew.
It was said afterward that a half-inch decided that touchdown. And the half-inch was on the wrong side of the line! Carmine wept frankly when he heard the decision and Tom Hall had to be held away from the referee, but facts were facts and Carmine had lost his touchdown and Brimfield the victory by the width of a finger!
Benton departed joyously, cheering and singing, and Brimfield tried hard to be satisfied with a drawn game. But she wasn't very successful, and for the next few days the referee's decision was discussed and derided and regretted.
What sorrow Don felt was largely mitigated when, after supper that evening, Steve Edwards found him in front of Billings. "You come to us Monday, Don," said the captain. "Robey told me to tell you. Joe Gafferty's got a rib caved in and is out of it for a fortnight at least. Get Tim to coach you up on the signals. Don't forget."
As though he was likely to!