“They try for the extra point,” the announcer called. What did it matter? The game was won.
“It’s good! What matter? The score stands 13 to 7. One minute to play. Time out. The Red Rover is leaving the game.”
What did it matter? The game was won.
* * * * * * * *
Tom Howe’s mop-up men did their work well. Angelo the impostor and his band of crooks and kidnapers were sent to jail; not, however, until their bank accounts were exhausted, their safety boxes emptied, paying back the money they had hoped to steal.
With a pilot imported from Houghton, Johnny rode in the big amphibian with Drew’s prisoners back to the city. Drew rode alone in the red racer.
As for Red, a cold shower woke him from the half-trance that had carried him to victory in one of the famous football games of history. Two days later he found himself sitting before a small fire in his own room, meditating on the future. Berley Todd had urged him to visit her in her father’s palatial home. Would he go? She had asked him to go with her to Isle Royale in the good old summer time.
“Isle Royale,” he murmured. “The land of dreams.” Would he go?
The Grand Old Man was leaving football forever. Should he, too, leave and go back to the steel mill? Surely life was strange.
A book lay on his lap. It was “Burton’s Analytic Geometry.” He must dig in. He dug.