STOPPING A TOUCHDOWN.
Frank Merriwell was there. His appearance was a surprise to nearly all
the Yale crowd; it created a sensation.
"Merriwell has been taken in to fill Marline's place!" was the excited
statement that went around.
"It's a foolish move," declared scores. "He has not been practicing with
the team. He's not in condition."
They did not know Frank Merriwell thoroughly, for he kept himself in
condition constantly.
At first his appearance seemed to create doubt and uncertainty among the
spectators who were interested in Yale. Gradually, however, enthusiasm
grew. It was remembered how he had carried the ball right through
Princeton's center in the game the year before, making the most
remarkable run ever known on a football field. Yale had felt her chance
was a desperate one; surely it could not be any worse. Perhaps it might
be bettered by the placing of Merriwell at full-back. It was a desperate
resort, but who could say the result would not justify the move?
Forrest was talking to Merriwell, having drawn Frank aside. They were in
earnest conversation.
A little negro boy came on the field. How he escaped the vigilance of
the officers was a mystery, but he reached the group of substitutes.
"Heah!" he called, flourishing something in his hand: "heah am suffin'
to Mistah Merriwell. Where am he?"
It was a folded scrap of paper. One of the substitutes took it and told
the boy to "chase himself."
"I's done got mah pay fo' bringin' it," he chuckled, as he scudded off.
The note reached Merriwell when he had finished talking with Forrest. He
took it in surprise, and then opened it hastily. A gasp came from his
lips when he saw the writing.
"From Inza!" he whispered.
This is what he read:
"DEAR FRANK: Did not receive your letter till this morning. Too
late then to answer. Had left New Haven for Boston before I
read it. You asked me to release you from your promise not to
play football. No, I will not! You must not play! If you do,
I'll never speak to you again! I know Yale will win if you
play! You must not play! Hastily,
"INZA."
"Line up!"
The game was about to begin!
Frank tore the note into many pieces, and those pieces he tossed aside.
His face was stern and determined.
"It's for old Yale--dear old Yale!" he muttered. "She has no right to
ask so much of me without giving me a reason for it. I must play--I will
play!"
Out to positions went the two teams. They lined up for business, and a
great hush came over the mighty jam of spectators.
Yale had the first kick-off, and Merriwell balanced himself for it.
Pung!--away sailed the ball clean through Harvard's goal posts, causing
the uninitiated to tremble, as it was an exquisite exhibition of
kicking.
But this kick really gave Yale no advantage, for the rule gives the ball
to the opponents on such a play.
Harvard's full-back sent it spinning back into the center of the field.
It looked like another kick by Merriwell, but, instead of that, Yale
tried Mills, the right-half, who could make only two yards against
Harvard's heavy forwards.
The game was on in all its fury, and the excitement was intense. Kick
followed kick in quick succession, but that style of play did not seem
to gain anything worth gaining for either side.
Yale got the ball and tried the revolving wedge on Harvard. They could
not make a big gain, for the Cambridge lads were like a stone wall.
Again and again was this style of play tried, till Harvard got the ball
on downs.
Then came Harvard's turn to see what she could do, and the first attempt
was a try at the tandem play, made famous by Pennsylvania.
Yale seemed ready enough for that, and the way she cut through and broke
Harvard's line showed immediately that the tandem was not likely to
prove very effective.
Then Harvard called on Benjamin, her right-half, and a moment later the
rush line did a fine piece of work, opening Yale's center and letting
the little fellow through.
Benjamin had the speed of the wind. He also had the ball. Away he went
with it, and there was a clear field before him.
Harvard admirers roared from all over the field. The crimson flaunted
everywhere.
It looked like a sure touchdown for Harvard. Every Yale spectator held
his breath in racking suspense.
Benjamin was flying over the ground. It seemed that his feet scarcely
touched the turf.
Where is Yale now? What chance has she to stop the little fellow with
wings on his feet?
Three seconds of suspense seemed like three hours of torture. It was
awful!
A Yale man was after little Benjamin--was gaining! Could he stop the
little fellow in time? It must be a tackle from behind, if at all, and
the slightest slip would bring failure.
Behind them came all the others on the run, strung out raggedly.
Benjamin would make it--he was sure to make it. His pursuer could not
reach him in time.
Then it seemed that the Yale man had springs in his legs, for he sailed
over the ground like a frightened rabbit. He closed in on Benjamin and
flung himself headlong at the little fellow.
Down slipped the tackler's hands, down from the hips to the knees, to
the ankles. Down went Benjamin with a hard thump, stopped within three
yards of Yale's line.
Twenty men piled upon tackler and tackled.
Deep down beneath that mass was Frank Merriwell, his hands clinging like
hooks to Benjamin's ankles.
He had stopped what seemed to be a sure touchdown for Harvard at that
early stage of the game.