The autumn sunlight had disappeared slowly from the field of battle, and the first shadows of evening grew and deepened along the fences. The second half of the game was well-nigh over, and the score-board told the story thus:
Hillton 6 Opponents 8
Hillton’s Ball
3 Down 4 Yds to Gain
7 Minutes to Play
Over on the Hillton sections of the stand the cheering was hoarse and incessant, and crimson banners waved ceaselessly. It has ever been Hillton’s way to shout loudest under the shadow of defeat.
Hillton’s one score had been secured in the first three minutes of play. Quick, steady tackle-back plunges had carried the ball from the center of the gridiron to St. Eustace’s six-yard line before the latter team had awakened to its danger. From there Cantrell had skirted the Blue’s right end and Hale, the Hillton full-back, had kicked an easy goal.
But St. Eustace had pulled herself together, and from that time on had things her own way, forcing her rival to abandon offense and use every effort to protect her constantly threatened goal. Yet it was not until the half was almost over that St. Eustace finally managed to score, pushing her full-back through for a touch-down and afterward kicking goal.
The second half had started with honors even, but on his five-yard line Hale had failed miserably at a kick, and had been borne back for a safety. And now, with but seven minutes left, with the ball on Hillton’s fifty-yard line and four yards to gain on the third down, the Crimson was fighting valiantly against defeat.
Syddington, pale and panting, measured the distance to the St. Eustace goal with his eyes and groaned. If only Lane or Sanford, who had taken Cantrell’s place, could be got away round an end! If only they could get within kicking distance of that cross-bar! If——
“34—29—96—12!”
Lane was hurdling the line at right guard. Syddington dashed into the mêlée, shoving, shouting hoarsely. The blue line gave and Lane fell through, squirming, kicking. The Hillton stand went wild with joy. The score-board proclaimed first down.
“Get up! Get up!” called Syddington, a sudden note of hope in his strained voice. “That’s the stuff! We can do it again! Hard, fellows, hard!”