VICTORY!
That oblique kick-off had been prearranged and by the time the Claflin
right guard had called it his the Maroon-and Grey forwards were down on
him. His frantic attempt to gather the ball into his arms failed and it
bounded away toward the side line. Blaisdell fell on it a foot from the
mark and Brimfield shouted joyfully. From Claflin's thirty-six yards to
her twenty the Brimfield backs carried the pigskin. There Roberts was
caught holding and the Maroon-and-Grey was set back. Harris fell back as
if to kick and threw forward to Roberts on Claflin's twelve. Roberts
caught, but was stopped for no more gain. The Brimfield stand cheered
hoarsely and unceasingly, the cheerleaders never letting up for a
moment. Harris plugged the Claflin centre for two, St. Clair got three
around left tackle and Harris made it first down on the Blue's two yards
directly in front of goal by a criss-cross play through right guard.
Brimfield went crazy then and cries of "Touchdown! Touchdown!
Touchdown!" thundered across from the stand.
Carmine and Captain Innes conferred. St. Clair was chosen to try the
right tackle. But there was no hole there and he lost a yard. Harris
banged out less than two feet at right guard. St. Clair again tried
right tackle and got through for one. Harris fell back to kick. The
stands quieted. Innes passed low and Harris took too much time. The ball
bounded away from an upstretched hand and Carmine fell on it at the
twenty-two yards.
Once more Brimfield took up the journey. A forward-pass to Edwards went
short and Clint knocked it out of the eager hands of a Claflin player.
Two attempts by Kendall advanced the ball but four yards and Harris
again went back to kicking position. He was on the twenty-six yards and
just to the left of the goal and Brimfield fully expected a score. But
when the ball went to him he tucked it under his arm and shot to the
left in an effort to skirt the end. The attempt just failed to gain the
distance and the ball went to Claflin on downs. The maroon-and-grey
flags that a moment before had been waving riotously now wilted
dejectedly.
Claflin failed to gain on two downs and punted short to midfield, where
Carmine caught and eluded half the enemy before he was forced over the
side line for a gain of eight yards. The ball was paced in at Claflin's
forty-six and Kendall, from kick formation, got nine outside right
tackle, Clint opening the hole. Harris made it first down. A
forward-pass, Carmine to Edwards, grounded. Carmine took the ball for
four through centre, St. Clair failed to gain and Harris punted to the
Blue's five-yard line. Wentworth made a fair-catch and punted on second
down, after a plunge at right tackle had netted two yards. Kendall
caught and was stopped for no gain.
The ball was on Claflin's forty-six yards. Harris, on a delayed pass
play, made three outside left tackle and Kendall got away for seven and
first down. Kendall again got free around the left of the Blue's line
and reeled off six more before he was tackled. He was hurt and Freer
took his place. The latter at once distinguished himself by breaking
straight through the Claflin left guard for five yards, and it was first
down again on the Blue's twenty-five.
It seemed now that nothing was going to stop the Brimfield machine short
of the goal line, for the offence it was showing was far superior to
anything exhibited that afternoon by either team. Claflin was proving
weaker at the ends of her line than expected and her tackles were
showing the strain. The end of the period sounded after Freer had been
stopped for a yard.
Claflin put in a new right guard and a fresh right tackle and returned
two of her former men to the line. Coach Robey sent Hall back, but made
no other change. The teams doffed blankets once more and again faced
each other on the Blue's twenty-four yards.
Claflin hoped for nothing better, perhaps, than a no-score result, for
her attack had several times failed to get under way and her opponent
seemed to be gaining strength rather than losing it. Carmine, acting
under instructions from Coach Robey, now opened up his bag of tricks. A
long side-pass to Edwards, followed by a forward heave to Roberts,
across the field, brought the Maroon-and-Grey supporters leaping to
their feet, for Roberts caught the long pass high in the air, dodged a
frantic Claflin end and raced straight toward the goal line. Only the
fact that he slipped near the ten-yard line prevented a score then and
there. That instant's falter brought the enemy down on him and, although
he managed to squirm forward another yard, he was stopped. But it looked
a short distance from the nine yards to the final white line, and
Brimfield implored a touchdown.
Harris was hurled against the desperate blue line and made a scant two
yards, and was found threshing his arms about when the players were torn
apart. Time was taken out and, after the full-back had been administered
to, he was supported to the bench and the eager Rollins cantered on.
Again came a bewildering trick-play, with a delayed pass from Innes to
Freer and a straight dash at the line by St. Clair after a short lateral
pass. But, although Claflin's forwards faltered, the secondary defence
came to the rescue and St. Clair gained only two yards. It was third
down now, with five to go, and from both sides of the gridiron came the
imploring shout of the rival "rooters." Brimfield chanted "Touchdown!
Touchdown!" and Claflin hoarsely begged her warriors to "Hold 'em,
Claflin! Hold 'em, Claflin!"
And Claflin held them!
With Harris out of the line-up, Carmine hesitated to try a field-goal,
and when, after another yard and a half had been gained by Freer, the
goal line was still almost four yards away, he risked all on a
forward-pass. Edwards managed to sneak into position beyond the goal
line, but Carmine's toss went wide and Claflin fell on the ball back of
the post. Blue flags waved wildly then, while, across the dimming field,
the Brimfield stand was silent and disappointed.
Six minutes still remained of that final quarter, however, and the
Maroon-and-Grey took courage again. When the teams lined up once more
Still was at left half, Trow at right tackle and Thursby had taken Jack
Innes's place. Claflin played desperately then and, almost before
Brimfield realised it, had reached the middle of the field. Trow was
weak and several gains were made past him. Thursby, too, had not found
his pace. Claflin succeeded with a short forward-pass and twice made
five-and six-yard gains around the Brimfield right end. But at the
fifty-yard line the Blue's Advance was halted and Claflin was forced to
punt. The kick was short and high and went out near the
Maroon-and-Grey's thirty-yard line. Carmine hurled Freer at the centre
for four, the same player slid off left tackle for three more and
Carmine himself made it first down on a wide end-run. Once more
Brimfield took up its journey toward the distant goal line.
Lateral passes, forward passes, delayed plays, all were used and all
gained something, while Freer and Still and Freer again slid past the
tackles, Carmine shot through here and there like a jack rabbit and the
slower-moving Rollins bucked the line for less spectacular gains. Past
the centre of the field rolled the Maroon-and-Grey, past the forty
yards, past the thirty. Claflin fought tooth and nail, despairingly,
desperately, longing for the whistle that should announce the end.
Just past the thirty-yard line Brimfield had a setback and her progress
was halted when Gafferty was caught off-side. It became second down then
with fifteen to go and Rollins trotted back up the field and held his
arms out. But Claflin wasn't looking for a punt on second down and so
was not deceived as to her opponent's intentions. What did deceive her,
though, was the play that came off. For the ball was snapped to Freer,
and Freer, after running across the field, passed back to Carmine and
that youth, twisting on his heel, dashed straight into the confusion of
friend and foe, dodging, feinting, twisting, and emerged on the other
side and raced on for the goal line. But near the twenty he was brought
low by a Claflin back, and it was third down and a half-yard to go.
Carmine pantingly demanded the time. The answer was two minutes.
It was Still who got the necessary half-yard, together with a yard more
for good measure. Claflin halted the game while an injured right end was
nursed back to an interest in life, and in that interim Coach Robey sent
in three substitutes. Sherrard went in for Edwards, Holt for Roberts,
and Saunders, limping a little, took the place of Trow at right tackle.
Clint had his head-guard ready to hand over when he saw Saunders trot on
and was more than surprised when the former left tackle passed him by
and laid his hand on Trow's arm. Holt evidently brought a message from
Coach Robey, for he dragged Carmine back and whispered to him. What the
instructions were was soon apparent, for when the whistle shrilled again
the Maroon-and-Grey began a relentless hammering of the Blue's left
side, hurling her backs at guard and tackle, and, although Claflin sent
her backs to the rescue of the beleaguered forwards, the gains came
consistently and grew longer and longer. The Maroon-and-Grey, on the
eight yards now, was again demanding surrender.
Clint, with a swollen mouth and a piece of dirty surgeon's plaster
running slantwise above his right eye, panting for breath, bathed in
perspiration, watched his adversary as Carmine yelped his signals again.
Only eight yards to go and four downs to do it in. Clint scented
victory and his nerves grew tense as he waited. Then he was pushing and
wrenching and once more the hole was opened wide and once more Freer,
playing like a wildcat, smashed past him. Clint followed through, met a
Claflin back and sent him staggering aside. Freer, tackled but still
fighting, dragged himself on and on. And then the unexpected happened.
"_Ball!_"
The shout came frantically from somewhere and Clint saw the pigskin,
squeezed from the half-back's arms, bound into air. A blue-sleeved arm
shot toward it, and another, but the ball, bouncing away from an eager
hand, went, turning lazily over and over in its flight, toward the side
line. Clint turned swiftly and pursued, elbowed by others. He shot an
arm out to the left and cleared his path. Cries and pounding footsteps
came to his ears. Away rolled the ball, spurning the five-yard line,
seemingly bent on trickling out of bounds. A blue-jerseyed player tried
to edge past Clint, but the latter swung in front of him. Then he was on
the ball, and up again with it tucked against his stomach, and was
plunging toward the goal line, a scant six yards away! A Claflin man
dived at him and strove to pinion his knees, but with a wrench Clint
tore one leg free and staggered on another stride. Arms clutched him
about the shoulders and it seemed that he was pulling a ton of weight
with him. Then there was a shock, his legs went from under him and he
toppled to earth. But as he fell, and as the last breath in his body
seemed to leave him forever, he pushed the ball away from him at arm's
length and set his fingers about it like so many vises! And that was the
last he knew.
When he opened his eyes he was being sloshed with water from a big,
smelly sponge, and the trainer's little green eyes were above his.
"What is it?" he asked dazedly.
"It's a touchdown, my boy! A touchdown by a bare two inches! And how do
you feel?"
Clint smiled as he closed his eyes again for a moment and became aware
that the sound which had before seemed like the pounding of surf on the
shore was the steady cheering of Brimfield's supporters. "I feel--all
right," he answered, "and--and for the love of mud take that beastly
sponge out of my mouth!"
The trainer chuckled, and at that instant the cheering rose to a new
height of intensity.
"What's that?" asked Clint, struggling to get up.
"Rollins kicked goal," was the answer. "Lie still a minute, boy."
"Then--then we've won?" exclaimed Clint, realisation of victory pouring
over him like a wave and setting his heart to thumping.
"We have; seven to nothing; and there goes the whistle and it's all over
for another year, thank Heaven! And now you'd best get on your feet, for
they'll be after you in a minute!"
And they were, a score of them, with Amy in the lead, Amy laughing and
jubilant and devil-may-care! And Clint, protesting, still a bit faint
and pale, but immeasurably happy, was lifted to willing shoulders from
where, a little vaguely, he looked down upon a sea of frantically
cheering youths who waved maroon-and-grey banners and behaved in the
time-honoured custom of the conqueror.
"Gangway!" shouted Amy. "Hold tight, Clint! Here we go, fellows!
Gangway!"
Clint's bearers broke into a shambling run, and Clint, clutching tightly
at Amy's neck, lurched and bobbed dizzily as they hurried across the
field. For an instant he caught a view of the gravely pleased
countenance of Penny Durkin. Penny waved and was lost to sight again.
Other faces he knew swam past him. Smiles and shouts and waving hands
greeted him. Other players, caught before escape was possible, were
swaying about in front of the stand where Brimfield was forming into a
procession to march in triumph about the trampled field of battle.
Straight for the head of the parade scuttled Amy and his cohorts.
"Gangway!" babbled Amy. "Let us through here!"
"Amy!" remonstrated Clint. "Let me down, you crazy Indian! I--I'm
tired!"
"Let you down!" cried Amy incredulously. "Not much! You're a bloomin'
hero, Clint, and you've got to act the part. You're the chap who knocked
the 'laf' out of Claflin! Hold your head up now and look like Napoleon!"
"But, Amy, honest--"
"Shut up and don't queer the show! Gangway! Gangway for Left Tackle
Thayer!"
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Left Tackle Thayer, by Ralph Henry Barbour