Hearing this, Red Rodgers felt a chill rise up his spine. They had seen him. They expected so much.
“And if I lose,” he murmured low, “if I lose!”
He set his teeth hard. He could not, he must not lose!
On far away Passage Island Johnny Thompson and Drew Lane heard the shout that, growing in volume, came welling forth from the radio like the increasing roar of a raging sea. They heard it and understood. And from the corner where the kidnapers sat there came again a low groan.
At this moment Johnny was tempted to feel sorry for these men who had lost so much. “And yet,” he told himself, “a week ago they were riding in powerful cars purchased by crooked money. They wore diamonds. Nothing was too good for their ladies; furs, silks, jewels. They denied themselves nothing. Then, that they might win still greater wealth, they kidnaped a boy who had nothing, who was working his way through college.
“At the same time they snatched a defenseless girl. These they would have murdered had it served their purpose. They know no mercy. They deserve none. They—”
“Look!” came the announcer’s shout from the radio. “Look! There’s the Red Rover! Can you beat that? You can’t even tie it! He was kidnaped, as you know, several days ago. The country has been gone over with a fine-tooth comb. They couldn’t find him. Every detective in the country was on the trail of the abductors. And now he walks calmly out on the field to take his place. It can’t be the Red Rover. It must be his ghost. And yet—yes, it is!
“Listen to that crowd roar! They’re standing up. All over the stadium they’re on their feet. Even Northern is applauding. Good sports! What a game this is going to be!”
And it was; such a game as one witnesses but once in a lifetime. And yet, as Drew Lane and Johnny Thompson sat there in that room on Passage Island, looking away now and then to the tossing waters of Lake Superior, listening always with all their ears, they sank lower and lower in their chairs. Something seemed to be wrong. The Red Rover could not get going. Midway’s hopes had been centered on him. The team had been built around him. A strong offensive team, able to charge the line, to block and to run; yet always as he followed through the opening made for him, some one from the opposing team broke through and downed him. Sometimes they smeared him for a loss.
Red could not understand this himself. Had the opposing players schooled themselves so thoroughly in defensive tactics that no man could go through for a touchdown? In the days away from his team had he grown soft? He hated those kidnapers with a bitter hate; was tempted even to hate old Ed, the scout, Berley Todd and Drew Lane.