Behind the Line | Page 2

In the second half Hillton had secured the ball on the kick-off, and,
never losing possession of it, had struggled foot by foot to within
fifteen yards of the Blue's goal. From there a kick from placement had
been tried, but Gale, Hillton's captain and right half-back, had been
thrown before his foot had touched the leather, and the St. Eustace
right-guard had fallen on the ball. A few minutes later a fumble
returned the pigskin to Hillton on the Blue's thirty-three yards, and once
more the advance was taken up. Thrice the distance had been gained by
plunges into the line and short runs about the ends, and once Fletcher,
Hillton's left half, had got away safely for twenty yards. But on her
eight-yard line, under the shadow of her goal, St. Eustace had held
bravely, and, securing the ball on downs, punted it far down the field
into her opponent's territory. Fletcher had run it back ten yards ere he
was downed, and from there it had gone six yards further by one superb
hurdle by the full-back. But St. Eustace had then held finely, and on the
third down, as has been told, Hillton's fake-kick play had been
demolished by the Blue's tackle, and the ball was once more in the
hands of St. Eustace's big center rush.
On the side-line, his hands in his pockets and his short brier pipe
clenched firmly between his teeth, Gardiner, Hillton's head coach,
watched grimly the tide of battle. Things had gone worse than he had
anticipated. He had not hoped for too much--a tie would have satisfied
him; a victory for Hillton had been beyond his expectations. St. Eustace
far outweighed his team; her center was almost invulnerable and her
back field was fast and heavy. But, despite the modesty of his
expectations, Gardiner was disappointed. The plays that he had
believed would prove to be ground-gainers had failed almost invariably.
Neil Fletcher, the left half, on whom the head coach had placed the
greatest reliance, had, with a single exception, failed to circle the ends
for any distance. To be sure, the St. Eustace end rushes had proved
more knowing than he had given them credit for being, and so the fault
was, after all, not with Fletcher; but it was disappointing nevertheless.

And, as is invariably the case, he saw where he had made mistakes in
the handling of his team; realized, now that it was too late, that he had
given too much attention to that thing, too little to this; that, as things
had turned out, certain plays discarded a week before would have
proved of more value than those substituted. He sighed, and moved
down the line to keep abreast of the teams, now five yards nearer the
Hillton goal.
"Crozier must come out in a moment," said a voice beside him. He
turned to find Professor Beck, the trainer and physical director. "What a
game he has put up, eh?"
Gardiner nodded.
"Best quarter in years," he answered. "It'll weaken us considerably, but
I suppose it's necessary." There was a note of interrogation in the last,
and the professor heard it.
"Yes, yes, quite," he replied. "The boy's on his last legs." Gardiner
turned to the line of substitutes behind them.
"Decker!"
The call was taken up by those nearest at hand, and the next instant a
short, stockily-built youth was peeling off his crimson sweater. The
referee's whistle blew, and while the mound of squirming players found
their feet again, Gardiner walked toward them, his hand on Decker's
shoulder.
"Play slow and steady your team, Decker," he counseled. "Use Young
and Fletcher for runs; try them outside of tackle, especially on the right.
Give Gale a chance to hit the line now and then and diversify your
plays well. And, my boy, if you get that ball again, and of course you
will, _don't let it go_! Give up your twenty yards if necessary, only
hang on to the leather!"
Then he thumped him encouragingly on the back and sped him forward.
Crozier, the deposed quarter-back, was being led off by Professor Beck.

The boy was pale of face and trembling with weariness, and one foot
dragged itself after the other limply. But he was protesting with tears in
his eyes against being laid off, and even the hearty cheers for him that
thundered from the stand did not comfort him. Then the game went on,
the tide of battle flowing slowly, steadily, toward the Crimson's goal.
"If only they don't score again!" said Gardiner.
"That's the best we can hope for," said Professor Beck.
"Yes; it's turned out worse than I expected."
"Well, you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that they've
played as plucky a game against odds as I ever expect