The Hillcrest team received the ball at the start of the second half. Punch Dickman carried it back to his own forty-yard line. When the team went into a huddle, Dynamite hissed two words that made them gasp: “Modified suicide!” This was all he said. It was enough. Every boy’s nerves tingled as they lined up for the play. It was a strange formation, five men to right of center, one, the end, at the left. Kentucky was in his usual position only two yards back. Rabbit Jones, the other half-back, was thirty yards out from the end of the line. Center and full-back crouched behind the line. Signals were to be called on this play.
Artie Stark was calling, “Six—ten—seven—ten—”
Dynamite was listening. Stagger Weed, big, a little too fat and very obviously the center, moved uneasily, but no one noticed this. As the last “ten” was called, Dynamite stepped in behind Stagger’s great bulk. Rabbit Jones moved forward to the line of scrimmage. Someone from the bleachers roared, “Forward pass!” He was right, more right than he knew.
The eyes of the opposing back field were on Rabbit Jones. “Six—seven—nine—eleven” Artie droned the numbers. The ball was snapped. It went to Punch, the full-back. He leaped to the right, took three backward steps, then threw the ball high and far, not to the right, but to the left. Not to Rabbit Jones, but to Stagger, the center. Stagger gathered the ball to his ample bosom then went lumbering like a freight train toward the distant goal. And why not? There was no one to stop him.
Then such a roar as went up from the Pitt side of the bleachers. How the Pitt team crowded around the referee.
“He’s their center!” they protested. “Their center! The center is not eligible to receive the ball.”
“You’re all wet,” was the good natured referee’s reply. “When the ball was snapped, there was no player at the left of center. That made him left end. And so-o—”
He did not finish. There was no need. The disconsolate Pitt players, wandered back to the line.
The kick was good. “Fourteen to seven,” Dynamite exulted. “If only we can hold it. And we must!”
They did not hold it, at least not for long. There is something about being totally deceived, that makes men see red. The Pitt men had been thoroughly tricked. They saw red, very red indeed. In the next five minutes they took the ball from Hillcrest, made three first downs, threw a long forward pass, then went over the line. The kick, however, went wild. They were still beaten unless—