Ned Barstow knew him well, and could not resist a bantering word.
"How d'you like it, Reddy?"
"Blackwood's never beaten till the game is done!" came through Mark's set teeth.
The ball was kicked on along slant, more across than down the field, and as the players scattered to follow it, Mark and Seton found themselves running together off at one side away from the rest. The ball, which had gone over their heads, was still in the air, but very near. Directly behind them there was almost a clear field to the Winston goal-line.
"I'll catch it, Buck," Mark whispered. "You be all right to start when I give it to you. Keep behind me when I turn around; we can't afford a foul pass!"
It was on the ground before they reached it, but Mark snapped it up and shot it under his arm to his chum, who darted up the field behind him. The two were fairly started before the others saw what had happened.
Fleet-footed Buck Harris, plus a clear field and Reddy Alden for interference!
BUCK'S BLOOD WAS UP, AND HE TURNED THE FULL-BACK COMPLETELY OVER."
No wonder the Blackwood crowd yelled with delight. Winston men started across the field to head off the runners, but only two reached Harris. Barstow dodged Alden, and threw himself straight for Buck's knees. With a surprising wriggle the boy jumped clear over him, and left him sprawling. He was fairly caught, though, by Mellen, about a yard from the line. But his blood was up now, and by a supreme muscular effort he turned the full-back over, and together they rolled across. A touch-down!