“He’s dead on his feet,” Johnny whispered to Jensie. “The coach should take him out, but he’s afraid he’ll break him if he does.”
“Poor Ballard,” Jensie whispered back. “I wish he’d have some luck.”
Jensie was deeply interested in Ballard. They had gone to school together, she and Ballard, for years. It had mattered little that her home was large, her father rich; his home small, his family poor. They were friends.
When grade school was over Jensie had been sent away to a high class private boarding school for girls. This had lasted exactly three weeks. Jensie had pined away for her beloved mountains, her childhood comrades, and the glorious freedom of public schools. She ran away from Madame Farar’s select finishing school. She came home to the mountains. Her father had chuckled over her rebellion and had sent her, with Ballard and all her other childhood pals to the high school at the Gap.
She had not wanted to go away to college. The appearance of Johnny Thompson on the scene had changed all that. Johnny had painted glowing pictures of college, of basket ball, football, pep-meetings, evenings about the open fire in the big “dorm” and all else that goes to make college glorious. Johnny himself was a rather glamorous figure. And Ballard was going. That was enough. So, here she was. And here was Ballard of her own Pounding Mill Creek, on a football team that apparently could not win.
“They MUST win!” She set her teeth hard.
“They shall win!” Johnny exclaimed.
Would they? It did not seem so, for once again, as play was resumed, the opponents began battering their shattered line, marching down the field toward one more touchdown.
But not so fast! The Hillcrest line stiffened. Three downs and no gain. Cedarville was forced to kick. The ball shot skyward like a rocket to drop right into Artie Stark’s waiting arms. Artie raced forward for a gain of twenty yards. With a tackler at his heels he hurled a forward pass to Dave Powers. Dave sprang into the Cedarville mob. He dodged here, pivoted there, was about to be tackled, then lateralled back to Artie Stark half way across the field and all alone.
By this time the Hillcrest bleachers had gone mad. Even the Cedarville rooters were screaming at the tops of their voices.