“Substitute for left half, sir!” cried Rodney to the referee.
Stacey rose and nodded. “You’re off, Roger,” he said. He drew back with Rodney. “Any instructions?”
“Cotting says you’re to use me and that from now on everything goes,” whispered Rodney.
“All right. Watch close! Got your signals pat, Rodney? Don’t miss ’em! All right, fellows! Make this go now! Here’s where we start something!”
Rodney, pulling his head guard on, jumped to his place between guard and tackle.
Then came the signals and he dropped back, the other half taking his position on the opposite side. Then the ball was in play and Rodney was snuggling it to his stomach and plunging straight ahead through a hole that Kitty and Pounder had opened. But the Bursley backs smothered him after a two-yard gain and he struggled to his feet again before the whistle had ceased its shrill command. Once more he took the ball and slid off at a tangent, by the left guard, and once more he was stopped for a short gain. Then Hunter found a hole and went through and, with three to go, Stacey called for kick formation and then himself took the ball and made the distance straight through center. Maple Hill cheered loudly.
“Line up, fellows! Quick!” shouted Stacey. “Here we go!”
And go they did. One white line after another passed under foot. Bursley hurried in substitute after substitute, delaying the game as much as they could. Two times out of every three the ball went to Rodney and only once in that long advance did he fail to make a gain. Past the enemy’s forty-five yards went the Green-and-Gray, Stacey trying every trick in his budget and making most of them tell against a team now largely made up of second-string players. Not that Bursley gave way easily, for she didn’t. She fought hard, and, once behind her forty yards, showed renewed resistance and on three plays the Green-and-Gray made but five yards. A forward pass got the rest, though, with an added yard for good measure and Maple Hill scented victory.
But time was going fast. On the thirty-one yards Fortune frowned. There was a mix-up of signals and Rodney, carrying the ball, found himself without interference. Before he could make headway he was pinned by relentless arms and borne back, fighting, for a three-yard loss. With seven to go on the third down Stacey again tried a forward pass and, although the left end received it, he was downed in his tracks for no gain. It seemed then to be a case of kick or nothing, but a try at goal, even if it succeeded, would still leave Maple Hill defeated. Stacey, hesitating a minute, called for kick formation, and Hunter, who was only an indifferent kicker, dropped back up the field. Stacey fell to one knee to take the pass and hold the ball for a placement. But when the pass came it was not to Stacey but to Rodney, a yard away on his left.
“Fake! Fake!” shrieked Bursley.