“All right!” gasped Andy. His mouth was dry—his throat parched.
“Steady there! Steady!” warned the coach.
“Ready, Yale?” asked the referee.
“Yes!”
Again the whistle blew. Yale had the ball, and on the first play Andy was sent bucking the line with it. He hit it hard, and felt himself being pushed and pulled through. Some one seemed in his way, and then a body gave suddenly and limply, and he lurched forward.
“First down!” he heard some one yell. He had gained the required distance. Yale would not have to kick.
Panting, trembling, with a wild, eager rage to again get into the fight, Andy waited for the signal. A forward pass was to be tried. He was glad he was not to buck the line again.
The pass was not completed, and the ball was brought back. Again came a play—a double pass that netted a little. Yale was slowly gaining.
But now Harvard took a brace and held for downs so that Yale had to kick. Then the Crimson took her turn at rushing the ball down the field by a series of desperate plunges. Yale’s goal was in danger when the saving whistle for the third quarter shrilled out.
“Fellows, we’ve got to get ’em now or never!” cried the Yale captain, fiercely. “Break your necks—but get a touchdown!”