Once more the line-up. Andy’s ears were ringing. He could scarcely hear the signals for the cheering from the stands. He was called upon to smash through the line, and did manage to make a small gain. But it was not enough. It was the second down. The other back was called on, and went through after good interference, making the necessary gain.
“We’ve got ’em on the run!” exulted Yale.
The blue team was within striking distance of the Harvard goal. The signal came for a kick in an attempt to send the ball over the crossbar.
How it happened no one could say. It was one of the fumbles that so often occur in a football game—fumbles that spell victory for one team and defeat for another. The Yale full-back reached out his hands for the pigskin, caught it and—dropped it. There was a rush of men toward him, and some one’s foot kicked the ball. It rolled toward Andy. In a flash he had it tucked under his arm, and started in a wild dash for the Harvard goal line.
“Smear him!”
“Interference! Interference! Get after him!”
“It’s Blair! Andy Blair!”
“Yale’s ball!”
“Go on, you beggar! Run! Run!”