A HARD FOUGHT FIRST HALF
Although there might be changes at any time during the progress of
a fiercely contested game, the line-up at the start was as
follows:
_COLUMBIA._
Comfort.
_F.B._
Allen, Captain. West.
_R.H.B. L.H.B._
Wallace.
_Q.B._
Shadduck. Oakes. Harper. Bird. Daly. Eastwick. Morris.
_R.E. R.T. R.G. Center. L.G. L.T. L.E._
_CLIFFORD._
Evans. McQuirk. Roe. Gentle. Ross. Adkins. Smith.
_L.E. L.T. L.G. Center. R.G. R.T. R.E._
Style.
_Q.B._
Coots. Wentworth.
_L.H.B. R.H.B._
Hastings, Captain.
_F.B._
Clifford was to kick off.
Hastings, the big captain, stood there, poising himself for the
effort, and every eye was glued upon his really fine figure. Hastings
knew it, and purposely lingered just a trifle longer than he would
have done had there been no mass of spectators hedging in the field
on all sides in a solid bank of humanity.
There was a shrill whistle, the referee's signal, and it called
into life the twenty-two motionless figures that stood about the
field. Big Hastings ran forward, glancing sharply about to see
that his men were on the alert, and the next moment his shoe made
a great dent in the side of the new yellow ball. Away it sailed
into the air, far over toward Columbia's territory.
Straight toward Lanky Wallace, the plucky little quarter-back, it
came, and Wallace was right under it. Into his arms, with a
resounding "pung!" the spheroid landed, and, like a flash, the
quarter passed it to Jack Comfort for a return kick.
Comfort's toe found the pigskin as if his shoe belonged there, and
back through space went the twisting oval, in a long spiral curve,
while the cohorts of both teams loosed the yells that had been
long on tap.
"Oh, wow!"
"Pretty work!"
"That's the stuff, old man!"
"Fine footwork!"
These cries of encouragement to both sides were soon lost in the
riot of cheers and appeals to the teams to "go in and win!"
Big Hastings once more had the ball, and booted down the field
with a tremendous, smashing kick. Lanky and Oakes ran to get under
it, with good intentions, but with misdirected energy, and
collided forcefully, while the ball bounced from Lanky's shoulder
and rolled along the ground, a prize for whoever could first get it.
"A miss!"
"By jove, our fellows have lost the ball!"
"Get to it, Columbia!"
Exclamations of dismay, and frantic appeals came from a thousand
throats. Like mad the whole twenty-two players darted for the
yellow spheroid.
There was a mixup, a confused mass of struggling forms, an
indiscriminate whirlwind of waving arms and legs, and then, after
the frantic blowing of the referee's whistle, and when, slowly,
player after player crawled off the heap, Frank emerged, somewhat
bruised and dazed, but with the precious ball tucked under his
arm.
"Oh, good!"
"Fine, old man!"
"Columbia's ball!"
"Frank's got it, all right! That's the stuff. Did you see him
slide right in front of Ross, their husky right guard, and cover
it? Say, this is a little bit of all right--all right!" cried an
enthusiastic follower of Columbia.
It was on Columbia's twenty-five yard line now, rather closer to
the goal than Captain Frank liked, but he resolved to get right
into the play now, and called for the line-up. There was a
whispered conference between Wallace and Allen, and then the
quarter began calling the signal, emphasizing the first number. A
thrill seemed to run through the Clifford players, and when Paul
Bird snapped back the ball to the captain, instead of to the
quarter, who, all along, had acted as if he meant to take it,
there was a sudden rush on the part of Clifford, but it was too
late.
They had prepared for a play around their left end, but Frank
quickly passed the pigskin to Ralph West, the left half, who
sprang forward on the jump, and tore through a hole made between
the unsuspecting right guard and tackle of Columbia's opponents.
Through Ralph plowed, heaving and plunging his way, aided by a
splendid interference, knocking aside Wentworth, the opposing
right half, and struggling forward for a good gain.
"Oh, look at that, would you! Look! Look! He'll get a touchdown!"
"Touchdown nothing!" growled a disgusted Cliffordite, "What's the
matter with our fellows, anyhow, to be fooled like that?"
"Guess they read our signals wrong!" retorted the admirer of
Columbia High, with a chuckle.
"Oh, wow! Look at that! Hastings nailed him that time!"
Ralph had gone down under a fierce tackle by the big opposing
captain, but the plucky left half had made a good gain, and, as he
rose and held his hand on the ball until Bird came up to take it,
there was an outburst of cheers that warmed his heart.
"Good work, old man!" whispered Frank, as he ran up. "We fooled
'em that time!"
Herman Hooker led his gallant band of shouters in an impromptu
war-dance back of the grandstand, their frenzied shouts of joy at
the splendid play sounding loud above the other yells.
Then came quiet, while the players again lined up, and the calling
of the signals could plainly be heard across the gridiron. It was
useless for Clifford to listen, if, perchance, she had sneakingly
obtained a line on the play system of Columbia, for Lanky was
using the changed code, and only he and his men knew it. Slowly
he called off. It was an indication for Frank to take the ball, on
a try around right end.
Back came the oval with a clean snap, and the next moment Frank,
with it firmly tucked under his arm, was circling around Evans,
while Oakes, Harper and Shadduck had gotten into play on the jump,
and had successfully pocketed their opposing end tackle and guard.
Forward leaped Frank, with Shadduck and Oakes forming splendid
interference for him. Down the line they sprinted, while once more
the frenzied shouts broke forth:
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
"Go it, old man! Go it!"
It began to look as if Frank would score, for big Hastings was the
only man available to tackle him, as the other two backs had
played in so far that they were now hopelessly in the mixup of
tangled figures.
"Go on! Go on!"
"Yes he will! Wait until Hastings tackles him!" this from a
boastful Clifford player.
Hastings was waiting for the man with the ball, but Frank was
running behind Shadduck and Oakes now, and they were on the alert.
Hastings made a dive between them, seeking to come at Frank, and
for one fearful moment there was fear in the hearts of his friends
that the plucky right half would be downed. But Oakes fairly threw
himself at the big opposing captain, and the two went tumbling in
a heap, thus ending any chance Hastings had of tackling the man
with the ball.
Amid such yells as were seldom heard on the gridiron, Frank,
accompanied by Shadduck, whose interfering services were no longer
needed, touched the ball down exactly in the middle of the line,
behind the two posts, while the straggling Clifford players
straggled madly down the field, but too late. Behind them came
their leaping, dancing and exulting opponents.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
"Oh, you, Allen!"
"Great work, old man! Great work!" And indeed it was a splendid
run.
Such shouting and yelling as there was! Herman Hooker and his band
of "Indians" were hoarse with their efforts thus early in the
game, but gallantly they kept at it. There was a little silence
while the Clifford players lined up back of their goal posts, and
then Ralph West kicked goal, the ball sailing true between the
posts, and making the score six to nothing in favor of Columbia.
"That's the stuff! That's going some! Keep it up, you Columbia
Tigers, we're all proud of you!" hoarsely called a big man,
stamping about and waving his cane adorned with Columbia colors.
He had graduated from the old school twenty years before, and he
had never lost his love for it, nor for her sons of the gridiron.
There was an exchange of punts on the next kick-off, and when that
sort of playing was over, Clifford had the pigskin on Columbia's
thirty-yard line.
"Now, fellows, go through 'em!" grimly called Hastings, and Style
began to give the signals in a snappy voice. In another instant
Wentworth, the Clifford right half, hit the line with a tremendous
smash, going for a hole between Eastwick and Daly. Their mates
rallied to their support, but there was smashing energy in the
attack of Columbia's opponents, and hold as Frank and his players
desperately tried to, they were shoved back, and Wentworth had
gained four yards.
"Another like that!" called Hastings. "Go to 'em, now! Eat 'em
up!"
Once more a smashing attack, and three yards more were reeled off
around Shadduck's end.
"This won't do, fellows!" said Allen, seriously. "We've got to
hold 'em!"
"How's that? Guess we're going some now, eh?" demanded a Clifford
admirer, who sat next to Mr. Allen.
"Yes, you have a good team," was the answer. "But our boys are
only letting you do this for encouragement."
"Oh, ho! They are, eh? Just watch."
Indeed, it looked a little dubious for Columbia. Her players were
being shoved back for loss with heart-stilling regularity. There
was no need for Clifford to kick, and all of Frank's frantic appeals
to his men to hold seemed of no avail.
There was somewhat of a bitter feeling when, after some tremendous
line-smashing, Coots, the left half, was shoved over the line for
a touchdown, and that gave the cohorts of Clifford a chance to
break loose. They did not kick the goal, however, and that was
some encouragement for Columbia, since it left them one point to
the good.
Once more came the kick-off, and then, when Columbia had the ball,
and had lined up, she went at her opponents with such smash-bang
tactics, such hammer-and-tongs work, that she tore big gaps in the
wall of defense, and shoved player after player through. Frank was
sent over for a seven-yard gain, then came a fine run on the part
of Ralph, netting eighteen yards, while the crowd went wild. There
was grim silence on the part of the Clifford adherents as the
line-up came on the ten-yard mark, and then, amid a great silence,
Comfort smashed through for another touchdown.
"Oh, wow! How's that? Going some, I guess, yes!" howled the big
man, who had been a player in his youth. "Oh, pretty work!"
The goal was missed, for the ball had been touched down at a bad
angle, but the score was now eleven to five in favor of Columbia,
and there were still several minutes of play left in the first
half.
There was only a chance for an exchange of kicks however, ere the
referee's whistle blew, signifying that time was up, and the
players, who were just ready for a scrimmage, with the ball in
Clifford's possession on her opponent's fifteen-yard line,
dissolved, and raced for their dressing rooms.