Back came the ball, but with it, alas, came half the blue team! Yells and grunts; the crashing of bodies; confusion and pandemonium! The whistle shrilled. Behind the goal-line was a writhing mass of blue legs and red, but where was the ball? Into the pile dived the referee.
“Get up! Get up!”
[Cal had his first baptism by fire]
Off tumbled one player, Williams of Hall. Another, that was Sandy, and a third, that was Pete Grow. It was like pulling sacks of meal from a pile. A blue player and a red, a red player and a blue, until, finally, the bottom was reached and Jim, squirming through with his hand, found the ball. “Get up, I tell you!” he demanded. And there at the bottom, with every breath crushed out of him for the moment, lay Dutch with the ball clutched to his breast in a death-like grip.
“Safety,” said Mr. James. “Look after that man, Brooks.”
House players slapped each other on the back and grinned joyfully. Hall had scored a safety, but it had looked for a moment like a touchdown. House was still in the lead, the score three to two. Dutch was sponged with cold water and his arms were pumped up and down, and presently he rolled over and drew a dozen good long breaths and then was pulled to his feet.
“You go off,” said Brooks. “Send in Boland.”