The whistle blew for the end of the third quarter.
“We’ve got to hold ’em!” Dynamite muttered to Kentucky as they lay on the grass. “We’ve just got to.”
“Best way to do that is to better our lead,” was Kentucky’s courageous reply. “Remember how we went through left tackle?”
“Sure.”
“Try it again.”
Dynamite did try it again and with results he could not foresee.
The very first time Kentucky took the ball and Dynamite blasted him a trail, they went clean through the defense line of the enemy and were away. Then the fighting flight was on. Dynamite hit a husky opponent and sent him spinning. A second man appeared on the horizon. Dynamite took him on. He was big and powerful. Perhaps he fouled by holding, Dynamite did not quite know. At any rate they went down in a heap and Kentucky, the slim, fast-footed half-back sped on.
A vast shadow loomed before him—the opposing team’s safety man. Grinning, Kentucky sprang forward to offer him the ball.
Perhaps the giant had heard of this trick. Perhaps he was too dumb to want the ball. Whatever it may have been, he did not reach for the ball. Instead, he lammed straight at the slim youth. Kentucky was not quick enough. With an impact that could be heard all over the field, they went down in a heap. And Kentucky did not get up. Even when the referee took the ball from his hands, he did not stir. He was out for keeps.
“Poor Kentucky!” It was Jensie who spoke these words. She had seen it all and had come racing onto the field. It was she who directed the boys that picked him up, ever so gently, and carried him from the field.