IN THE LAST QUARTER
No team could continue the pace that Manning had set at the start, and
when Cutts had again kicked off from the midfield and Pearsall had
caught and reeled off twelve yards there was a perceptible let-down
in Manning’s speed, and, since the Blue had in the interim between
the scoring and the kick-off pulled herself together, the opponents
appeared more closely matched. Pearsall made her distance once, Connor
carrying the ball around Whaley when two tries at the left of center
had yielded five yards. The Blue’s fullback got two through Le Gette,
but after two more tries at the line Pearsall punted to Stuart on his
thirty-two. He managed to dodge back for five before he was thrown
heavily.
Manning began then a systematic bucking of the Pearsall center and
obtained good results, Tasker and Burns gaining between tackles for
enough to take the pigskin in the Blue’s territory. There an off-side
penalty set her back and Littlefield was caught off the line and dumped
on his head. Stuart punted to the Blue’s fourteen and Pearsall kicked
on second down to Manning’s forty. Manning failed to make her distance
on three tries and Tasker punted. The kick was short and a Pearsall
back landed the ball on his thirty-two. A forward pass grounded, but
on the next play Connor again went around Whaley and reached Manning’s
forty-six. A second attempt at the same play was spilled for a loss and
Pearsall sent her left half close off Thurston for six. The quarter
ended and the teams changed fields.
Pearsall had regained her confidence and showed it, and the Blue
stand was shouting madly. Pearsall brought off her first successful
forward-pass and made it go for nine yards, placing the ball close to
the home team’s thirty-yard line. Pearsall’s quarterback got loose
around his left and added four more, and Coach Haynes hurried Wesner on
in place of Whaley. The Blue was playing desperately and was hard to
stop. Yet from the twenty-six her progress was slower and it required
the tape to determine her right to retain possession of the ball on
the twenty. But she had made her distance by an inch or two, and the
Pearsall supporters went mad with joy. Almost on the threshold, the
Blue became cautious and, using a right shift, concentrated on the
enemy’s tackles. But two tries gained her only three yards and Loring,
her left half, went back to kicking position. As was expected, the
third down became an attempt at a plunge through center, an attempt
that was spoiled by the Manning backs. Then, from the twenty-three,
Loring got the ball on a good pass, dropped it and kicked. Manning
broke through, but, although Jack Brewton tipped the pigskin with his
fingers, the ball went squarely across the bar and the Blue had scored.
The rest of the second period passed without further scoring, although,
with but two minutes to play, Stuart, faking a pass to Tasker, hid
the ball for an instant and then shot straight through the enemy’s
center and dodged and squirmed through the backfield for twenty-eight
yards, landing the pigskin on Pearsall’s twenty-nine. That sample of
the quarterback’s return to his old form brought the Manning cheerers
to their feet, and there they stayed, cheering wildly, imploring a
touchdown. But, although Coach Haynes sped Hanson in for Littlefield
and Hanson and Lowe and Tasker each banged at the Pearsall line or
plunged past tackle, three downs left the Cherry-and-Gray three yards
short of her distance and Stuart and Jack held a consultation. Stuart
was all for risking a forward pass, but Jack preferred playing it safer
on a try at a field goal.
“It had better be Le Gette, then,” Stuart panted. “I’m all in, Jack.
But he can do it.”
“All right! Let’s have it!”
Le Gette looked a little bit pale when he dropped back to the
twenty-eight. The distance was nothing to bother him, nor was the
angle extreme, but this was his first attempt during the game and he
was nervous. And things went against him: Joe Cutts passed high and Le
Gette wasted a valuable moment getting the ball to position: a Pearsall
guard got through between Beeman and Cutts and, although Hanson spilled
him, added to Le Gette’s worriment. As a result the ball started well
but, short of the goal, veered from its path. There was a moment of
doubt that ended with a yell of relief from Pearsall. The pigskin had
passed a foot outside the further upright! Le Gette looked as if he
wanted to cry, but Stuart said: “Hard luck, Steve! You’ll get the next
one!” and the teams lined up once more. Pearsall tried one smash at
the foe and then the whistle blew.
Manning and Pearsall sang and cheered all through the intermission,
Manning with the confidence that a four-point lead gave her, Pearsall
with the hope of ultimate victory. When the teams trotted back again
all previous efforts in the line of cheering were paled by the mighty
welcomes that burst forth from the stands. Pearsall had made but one
change in her line-up, Manning two. Codman was at left guard in place
of Beeman and Wheaton was at quarter. Stuart saw the rest of the game
from the bench. He held no resentment toward Mr. Haynes, for “Wheat”
had proved his right to the position and the coach had fulfilled his
promise. If, secretly, Stuart believed that he could have played that
second half better than his rival, he gave no voice to the belief.
He took what consolation he could from the conviction that he had
performed well while he had been in and tried not to be unduly troubled
by the reflection that had he tried that goal from field instead of Le
Gette, Manning’s score might now be three points bigger.
Pearsall came back for that third period at least twenty per cent
better. What had passed in the Blue’s quarters during half-time
none but the members of the team and their coach knew, but whatever
it was it had had its effect. Pearsall, with her line-up practically
unaltered, took command of the situation at once. Manning gave the
kick-off to Pearsall and when the ball had landed in Muirgart’s arms
near his twenty-five-yard line she kept it but a brief time. Three
rushes proved the enemy’s line too strong, and Tasker punted. Fate took
a hand then. That punt was high and short and was pulled down on the
fifty-yard line. From there Pearsall opened up a new style of attack,
placing her backs, three-abreast, close to her line and keeping the
plays concealed most bewilderingly. She found a weak spot at Codman
and made gain after gain there until Codman was replaced by Baker. She
pulled off two forward-passes that were as successful as they were
daring, using long heaves far down the field to an unprotected end. Six
minutes after the kick-off the Blue was hammering at Manning’s portal
and the Cherry-and-Gray, desperate, was fighting for those final ten
yards.
Pearsall saw victory ahead and was not to be denied. Amidst a continued
welter of noise from the stands, she hammered and banged, gaining two
yards here, three there, making it first down at last on Manning’s six.
Irmo went in for Cutts, who was showing wear, and the Manning center
stood steady. With four yards to go on fourth down, Pearsall, faking
a kick, sent Connor skimming around the right end and, with sinking
hearts, the Cherry-and-Gray’s adherents saw him stagger across the goal
line at the corner of the field. From that touchdown Loring sent over
an easy goal, and on the score-board the white numerals changed from 7
to 3 to 7 to 10!
But there still remained nearly twenty minutes of playing time and,
undaunted, Manning went back to the contest. Pearsall for the rest of
that period seemed content to play on the defensive and punted whenever
the ball fell into her hands in her own territory. Manning found the
Blue line almost impregnable and was forced to use all the tricks in
her bag to make her gains. But luck seemed against her. Forward passes
failed and end runs were as often stopped behind the line as beyond
it. Yet, by hook or by crook, the Cherry-and-Gray managed to make her
distance four times before the whistle ended the third period, though
never once reaching far into Pearsall territory. When the period ended
the ball was Manning’s on her thirty-four yards, following a punt by
the enemy.
Stuart, watching anxiously from the bench, squirmed time and again
as the home team’s plays failed to gain and the minutes sped past.
There was something psychological in Manning’s condition, and Stuart
recognized the fact, although he didn’t use such a long word to
describe it to himself. He merely said: “That touchdown has taken the
starch right out of them!” It wasn’t that Manning didn’t try hard, for
she did. Her men were fairly working themselves to death. But labor and
skill, if ill applied, fail of their purpose, and Manning was somehow
fighting blindly. Stuart recalled a movie comedy he had seen wherein
a man had tried mightily to break through a door in a wall that ended
ten feet further along. The team, he thought, was like that man. It
was wasting its efforts trying to get through what might better be
got around or over. It had tried to get around, to be sure, and it
had tried to get over as well, but it hadn’t tried the right way. In
running the ends it had been advertising the play beforehand, starting
the runner from well behind the line and sweeping the interference
along with him. Why, the veriest idiot could have told what was
coming! As for her forward passes, he could find little fault with the
execution of those. Sheer luck had spoiled them, it seemed. But the
team did have a puzzling forward pass play which was well disguised as
a half back run, and that had not been attempted. More than once he was
moved to speak his thoughts to Coach Haynes, but always something held
him back. After all, the Coach had eyes and doubtless saw just what
Stuart saw. Perhaps when the fourth period began the Cherry-and-Gray
team would find itself again.
While the teams changed fields and water carriers scampered to the side
lines with pails and paper cups, Coach Haynes turned from a conference
with The Laird and summoned Littlefield to him. A few brief words were
exchanged and Billy, throwing off his blanket, ran on. No other change
was made. Yet when Manning had wasted one play on an ill-fated attack
at the Pearsall line on the left of center, she suddenly changed her
tactics, and Stuart, observing, sighed his relief.
“Haynes has sent the right dope, I guess,” he confided to Lowe, beside
him. “Now maybe we’ll see something.”
But Pearsall was not napping, and, although Littlefield sneaked
through between tackle and end on the left, the gain was short. Another
try outside of end went better, but fourth down found them shy three
yards of the required ten, and Tasker booted. This time, catching
near her twenty-five, her quarterback slammed to earth without gain
by Muirgart, Pearsall didn’t kick on first down, nor yet on second or
third. Instead, she began a hard drive on Manning’s left wing, hitting
Brewton and Baker for short gains and then getting past Jack on the
outside for nearly the distance. A fake kick and a quick slam at center
gave her first down on her thirty-six. From there the Blue, abandoning
defensive tactics, took the war into the enemy’s territory in just
seven plays. Muirgart gave place to Jakin at left end and went limping
off to the cheers of the Manning stand. Pearsall worked a quarterback
run for eight and followed with a well-disguised forward-pass that
landed the ball on Manning’s thirty-two. There, however, she hit a snag
and, with a yard to go on fourth down, saw her backs piled up with no
gain. Almost under the shadow of her goal, Manning took no risk of
losing the ball, but, after one futile plunge at right tackle, punted.
Tasker got nearly fifty yards on that kick, and the Manning supporters
yelled their relief and delight. Pearsall started back determinedly
from her thirty-five, gained four around Jakin, gained one at the same
end, made two through Irmo and again kicked. Littlefield caught on
his twenty-seven and swept the ball back to the forty before he was
stopped. Then began another brave attempt to reach the distant goal.
Using C Formation, with the backs spread widely, Manning fought her way
across midfield and started a determined march into the enemy country.
With Tasker back as though to punt, Littlefield and Burns found gaps
time and again and shot through the line only to be brought to earth by
the secondary defense. Yet the short gains were consistent for awhile,
and the pigskin went nearer and nearer the Blue’s goal. But the minutes
were ticking themselves off with fatal rapidity, and as, past the
thirty-five, the gains shortened, and, finally, Burns was thrown for
a loss, Stuart knew that there was to be no victory for the home team
to-day.
On the enemy’s thirty-two, with four to go on fourth down, Wheaton
tried a desperate expedient. Given another five yards or so, he would
be willing to risk a try for a goal from the field, and so, sending Le
Gette back to kicking position and dropping to the ground as though to
hold the ball for a place kick, Wheaton called his signals. Pearsall,
alarmed, held herself ready to break through. Then the ball sped back
into Wheaton’s hands. But instead of kicking it Le Gette only swung
his foot past it, and the next moment Wheaton was on his feet stepping
back, the pigskin poised for a throw. Then Jakin signaled and the ball
sped across the line. It was a fine toss and a fine catch and although
the left end did not get free, he made the twenty-two yards before he
was smothered by the enemy.
The Manning stand saw victory waving, and such a shout went up from
the throats of her devoted hundreds that even the wearied and jaded
players felt the thrill. Manning was racing with Time now, for the
linesman was slowly edging nearer and nearer, his eyes constantly
dropping to the dial of the stop watch in his hand, and it seemed
that Time must win. The two-minute period had already been announced,
and more than twenty yards remained between the Cherry-and-Gray and
a victory. Manning sprang quickly to position, but not so quickly
that the time she consumed did not seem interminable to the anxious
watchers. Pearsall was less inclined to speed, but the opponent made
her hustle. Littlefield tried hard to gain off tackle on the right, but
made less than two yards. Next, what looked like the same play resolved
itself into another forward pass, but this time Wesner failed to get
into place and the pass grounded. Then Fortune again turned her back on
the Cherry-and-Gray warriors. Tasker smashed through between left guard
and tackle for nearly five yards, but the squawking of the horn spelled
disaster and the referee paced off five yards and put the ball back
close to the twenty-five-yard line. Jakin had been caught off-side.
Stuart groaned aloud. Third down and thirteen yards to go! And seconds
instead of minutes left! Would Wheaton waste any of that precious
time on a hopeless rush or would he call on Le Gette for a field goal
from about the thirty-three yards that looked equally hopeless? All
expectation of a victory had been abandoned by the Manning supporters.
Instead, they prayed for a tie score, and, as the precious seconds
ticked themselves away, prayed silently.
Yet that silence was broken before the whistle blew again, for Towne
was running on, and, behind him, four more substitutes, and the
Manning stand answered the cheer leaders’ demand for “A short cheer
for Towne!” for Leonard, for Thompson, for Lowe, for Whiting! Cheers
for those who retired were cut short, for the whistle piped once more,
the referee scuttled to safety and a sigh of relief burst from Stuart.
Le Gette was walking back!
“Twenty-four seconds!” some one was crying as he took his stand. But
that didn’t worry him. The play once begun, time was of no account. It
was the distance and angle that caused him trepidation. He was eight
yards behind the line and the line was close to the twenty-five; and
the nearer goal post was well to his left. Perhaps had he been fresh,
with his lungs not seemingly on the point of stopping work and his
heart not pounding like a sledge, he might have faced his task with
more confidence. But as it was his spine felt more like a column of
water than a thing of bone and his muscles were twitching.
On the stands a deep silence had fallen. Pearsall’s cry of “_Block that
kick!_” had dwindled away. Even the shouts of the opposing players had
lapsed to hoarse mutters as Irmo, sighting, prepared to shoot the ball
back. Wheaton, crouched behind the center, yelped his signals in a
voice that cracked. Steve Le Gette held his trembling hands straight
out, stiffened himself on his wobbling legs. Then came the thuds
of meeting bodies, the rasping of canvas against canvas, the wild,
unintelligible cries, the throaty grunts as Pearsall hurled herself at
the enemy. But came, too, the battered brown ball, turning lazily over
twice on its shorter axis and settling true into the outstretched hands
awaiting it. One more brief glance at the crossbar, a quick turning of
the ball, a single step forward, a powerful swing of a leg! Then forms
blotted the speeding ball from his sight. The enemy was all about him,
plunging past, toppling to the trampled sod.
Up and up, slowly, unconcernedly, went the ball, hung for a moment
against the blue of the sky and arched downward. Midway between the
posts it sailed and, for a fleeting instant, as it began its descent,
it was eclipsed by the white streak of the crossbar!