The eleven fortunate men jumped nimbly to their feet and filed quickly out of the locker room.
Judd slapped Cateye on the back as his chum arose to go.
"Give 'em fits, pal," he said, simply.
The appearance of the Bartlett eleven touched a match to all the explosives that the Bartlett rooters had stored up and a riot of deafening sound rocked the field.
The crowd easily outnumbered any ever congregated at Bartlett. Half of the eastern bleachers had been reserved for the Pennington rooters, while the section directly across was occupied by Bartlett enthusiasts. The seating capacity was greatly overtaxed. At least two thousand people hovered behind the goal posts at the ends of the field and swarms were even accommodated in roped off areas between the foot of the bleachers and the playing lines.
Both teams appeared a trifle nervous before the game commenced, undoubtedly caused by the magnitude of the crowd and the importance of winning.
McDonald, Thorpe, Preston, McCabe, and Judd, all Bartlett substitutes, swathed in extra sweaters, seated themselves by the sidelines, in an advantageous position, to watch the game.
Benz, captain, conferred with Melvin, Pennington captain. The referee tossed a coin. Melvin won the toss and chose to receive the kickoff. Benz selected the north goal for Bartlett to defend. The two teams lined up quickly. An avalanche of sound came from the spectators.
"Are you ready?" shrieked the referee to the Pennington captain.
Melvin raised his hand in the affirmative.
"Ready, Bartlett?"
But Benz was crouching, tying up a shoe lace, preparatory to kicking, and trying to overcome his nervousness. This prolonged the tenseness.
After an age, it seemed, he straightened up; the referee raised his arm; the Bartlett men leaned forward, expectantly; the whistle screeched; Benz booted the ball; and the great game was on!
It was a splendid kickoff. The ball rose, spinning like a top and with enough impetus to send it far down the field.
Knapp, Pennington quarterback, captured the pigskin on his fifteen yard line and dodged in behind his quickly formed interference. For five,—ten,—fifteen yards he ran; his advance guard toppling man after man who attempted to reach him!
The crowd was on its feet, howling like mad!
"Stop him!" shrieked the Bartlett stands.
"Go on, Pennington!" bawled the Red and Blue.
A lanky individual now loomed up in the path of the oncoming trio. It was Pole! He hurled himself straight at the knees of the interference and the men went down like ten pins.
All save Knapp. Small of stature and a veritable rabbit on his feet; his interference now gone, he depended upon his own cleverness to gain more ground. He eluded the too eager arms of Benz who missed his tackle completely and struck face downward on the sod.
The spectators were now become fairly wild with excitement. Such a brilliant run at the very outset of the game was entirely unlooked for!
"He's got a clear field!" screamed some voice above the din.
"A touchdown from kickoff!" cried a Pennington enthusiast.
Knapp, in order to escape all opponents, now skirted the edge of the gridiron. He passed within a few feet of the Bartlett substitutes who were wildly hoping that some one might down him.
Judd's quick eye saw only one man between Knapp and a touchdown. That man was Cateye!
"Get that guy, Cateye!" bellowed Judd, making a megaphone of his hands.
In that frenzied moment, above the terrific din, Cateye heard and recognized Judd's voice wafted out to him. The words seemed to give him added zeal. He raced across the field toward the speeding Knapp. The little quarterback, confronted with this new obstacle, turned in sharply as Cateye lurched through the air, in order to avoid the tackle. But Cateye had judged the distance too true and Knapp had dodged too late. There was an impact as shoulder met thigh and a crunching sound as the two rolled over and over upon the turf; then mighty cheers.
"That-a-boy, Cateye!" barked Judd, joyously, while the Bartlett stands echoed his name.
"Yea, Knapp!" thundered the Penningtonites.
Knapp's fine sixty yard run injected a world of pep into his team and restored their confidence. The Bartlett eleven, on the contrary, was badly disheartened and shaken up by the suddenness of the spectacular run.
With the ball on Bartlett's twenty-five yard line and four plays to make a touchdown the Pennington team assailed the Black and Gold line viciously.
On the first play the ball went to Gordon, the heavy full back, who plowed through the right side of Bartlett's line for eight yards.
"Wow! Nothing to it!" roared the Pennington stands.
"Hold 'em, Bartlett!" entreated the supporters of the Black and Gold.
An end run netted five more yards, placing the ball on the twelve yard line. Gordon then took the pigskin, plunging straight through the center of the line for four yards. The Bartlett eleven seemed wholly unable to cope with the swift, varied, smashing attack of the visitors. It was evident to the onlookers that Knapp's brilliant run at the start of the game, coupled with Gordon's tremendous line bucking, had completely bewildered the Bartlett team. It was the first time during the entire season that any eleven had been able to gain consistently through the line and this fact further discouraged the Black and Gold.
"Hold 'em, fellows!" begged Benz, from the backfield. "Don't let 'em get a touchdown!"
The line stiffened and shifted to meet the next attack. They were already fighting in the shadow of their goal posts. Gordon again carried the ball and the play came direct for Cateye. By exerting a great effort Cateye broke through the Pennington line and dropped the huge Gordon for a slight loss.
The Bartlett stands became a mass of color. Cateye's name was on everyBartlett rooter's tongue.
Pennington, as Coach Phillips had said, was using Gordon, almost exclusively, from the outset of the game, as a battering ram to wear down the Bartlett line. Once the line was shot to pieces victory would be easy.
The Bartlett eleven, encouraged by Cateye's checking of the Pennington advance, regained in a measure their lost confidence and every yard thenceforth gained by the rival college demanded a royal struggle.
But Pennington was not to be denied the spoils of her rapid advance. Her dashing, smashing attack had progressed too far to be immediately and successfully blocked. Bartlett was beaten stubbornly back until the players crouched upon the very goal line with Pennington two downs to take the ball across.
The Red and Blue tried an end run but Benz tackled the man with the ball before he had gained a yard. Benz was fairly outplaying himself and sobbing like a baby.
The Bartlett stands shrieked encouragement, while from the Pennington bleachers came yells of, "Touchdown! Touchdown!"
On the last down, with less than two yards to go, Gordon ripped straight through the line and over the goal for a touchdown.
Amid a cascade of yells and wild demonstrations the Bartlett eleven lined up under their goal posts, awaiting the try for goal.
Knapp, the star Pennington quarterback, to whom much credit must go for the sudden overwhelming of Bartlett, threw himself face downward on the turf and held the ball at arms length to allow Bowen, halfback, to kick. Bowen paced a short distance back, carefully, then turned and running lightly forward, toed the ball squarely over and between the goal posts. Score, Pennington, 7; Bartlett, 0.
The Pennington rooters began to chant the score with the hopes of further disheartening the Bartlett eleven. "We want more! We want more!" volleyed Pennington.
"Rah! Bartlett, Rah! Fight 'em! Fight 'em! Fight 'em!" answered theBartlett stands defiantly.
There were seven minutes left of the first quarter. Pennington kicked off. Potts caught the ball and advanced it eight yards to the twenty-six yard line. It was the first time during the game that Bartlett had the ball in her possession and the Bartlett supporters were hopeful.
Neil called on Patterson, right half, for an end run, but the play barely netted a yard. Benz shot through the line for four yards. The Bartlett stands roared. Gary, left half, attempted a run around the other end but was downed with no gain. Benz dropped back and punted forty yards. The ball was Pennington's on their own twenty-nine yard line.
Using the same tactics as before and working one forward pass to advantage, Pennington began another steady march down the field. Bartlett was being completely outplayed in every department of the game. The quarter ended with the ball on Bartlett's seventeen yard line and Pennington's first down.
The teams exchanged goals and play started again. Gordon hammered his way through the line for nine yards with three tacklers hanging to him. The Bartlett defense seemed to grow weaker every minute. A trick play was good for three more yards, and with the ball on Bartlett's five yard line Knapp got away for a wide end run and a touchdown. The Pennington stands cheered madly. Why, this was no game; Bartlett was being outclassed! It had taken Pennington only three minutes to put over the second touchdown from the seventeen yard line. Bowen was forced to attempt the goal kick from quite an angle and the ball went wild. Score, Pennington, 13; Bartlett, 0.
Again Pennington kicked off. Cateye received the ball and advanced it back twenty yards in a pretty, dodging run. Neil tried vainly to enthuse the fallen spirits of his team-mates. They were not playing true to form; they were suffering the slump of the season and during the biggest game!
Benz was forced to punt again, the eleven not being able to make a first down. Gordon & Company started another triumphal march toward the coveted goal. This time the progress was easier than before. After each play several Bartlett men were seen to hobble wearily to their positions. The strain was beginning to tell. Soon the game would become a rout.
A fumble! Bartlett's ball! The stands came to life. Pennington's advance was at least momentarily checked. Neil called on Benz to carry the ball. He made three yards. Neil used him again. Benz tore off seven yards around end and Bartlett had made its first down!
Patterson and Gary, halfbacks, could gain very little on respective attempts. Neil was forced to call on Benz to make the yards. Benz was good for six. In a fake punt formation Benz tried a pass, but Norton, Pennington right end, intercepted the ball and carried it fifteen yards to the Bartlett thirty yard line before being downed. Bartlett's slight revival of form was thus ended.
There were six minutes left to play of the first half, and Pennington meant to have another touchdown. Every play was good for a few yards at least.
Cateye, who had played a wonderful game at left guard, was tiring fast. Knapp had chosen the left side of the line to direct a good share of his smashes at and Cateye had borne the brunt of the attack. Now, after each play, he was the last man to crawl upon his feet, and fall back into his position.
Pennington fought its way to the seven yard line. There were three minutes left in which to score a touchdown. Gordon took the ball, intending to drive his way through Cateye's position for a substantial gain. But Cateye, calling forth one last, great effort, broke through and tackled Gordon for a one yard loss.
The crowd gave him a mighty cheer but Cateye heard it not. He lay where he had fallen. Benz rushed up, knelt down beside him, then motioned to Neil.
"Help me get him to the sidelines, will you? He's knocked out!"
Someone rushed up with a blanket and pail of water. Cateye was carried to the sidelines. The substitutes crowded around. Judd pushed them aside.
"Cateye! Pal! Wake up! What's the matter?" Judd shook him rather roughly.
Cateye began to come to. "My knee! My knee!" he gasped.
Judd jerked off Cateye's shoe and sock. The bandaged knee was already badly swollen.
Coach Phillips came to Cateye's side. "Tough luck, old man. You played a great game. Judd, take off your sweater. You're going in Cateye's place. It's up to you. Hold 'em!"
"Me? Naw,—well," Judd hesitated, glancing at his room-mate.
"Go in, Judd, and stop that Gordon! There's two more downs and two minutes to play. Don't let 'em make a touchdown!" Cateye pleaded.
Judd still lingered, uncertain.
A strange voice was heard outside the group. "Let me in I say! That man was my former room-mate!"
"Why,—Bob Billings!" exclaimed Cateye, delighted, and forgetting his badly wrenched knee for the moment. "I didn't know you were here!"
"Just arrived a few minutes before the game started," replied the great Bob, reaching out and grabbing his open-mouthed younger brother, "Hello, Judd! What are you doing standing here? The crowd's calling for you. I supposed you'd gone out. Hurry up! Don't stop to argue. It's time for play to begin again. I'll see you at the end of the first half. Save the game, old man!"
Without a word Judd ripped off his jersey and dashed out upon the field. So Bob was here! And Cateye laid out! And,—Bartlett was being beaten! Well, he'd do his best to please Bob and Cateye, but how could he save the game? "Gosh!" thought Judd, "The game's lost already!"
Nevertheless he jumped peppily into Cateye's position. Just as his presence had inspired the second team so did his presence now cause new life to appear in the varsity.
Benz rushed up to Judd, throwing an arm about his shoulders. What did this mean? Another trick? But—no—it couldn't be——! that look in Benz's face and then—Benz was holding out his hand! Judd gripped it in a daze as the stands roared. All this action took place in two minutes time but to Judd it seemed like hours. So much had happened in those two minutes! And here Judd found himself actually playing in Cateye's position, something he had vowed that he would never do! Besides this, Benz had become his friend. Wonder of wonders!
But Judd had no more time to contemplate. The referee's whistle shrieked, and he became painfully aware that he was in the direct path of the onslaught. He braced himself; hit the opposing line low, and as a mass of legs passed over him he grabbed an armful and hung on. The roar in the stands became a rumble. Judd had stopped the great Gordon without a gain!
He staggered to his feet, a numb feeling in one hand, and Benz patting him joyfully on the back.
"Get him just once more, Rube, old man," yelled Benz, in his ear, "and it'll be our ball!"
Judd crouched in his position, his whole being concentrated on one object, Gordon. Would they use him again? Or might Pennington resort to some trick play to put the ball across?
Judd saw Knapp look at Gordon as he knelt to receive the ball; he saw the ball snapped back; saw Gordon dash forward and apparently take it from Knapp's hands, plunging into the other side of the line. All was confusion. All were mislead but Judd. He burst through his side of the line just as Gordon started forward. He saw the fake pass; saw all his team-mates lurch toward the right in a frantic effort to stop the much feared Gordon. But above all this he saw Knapp, running free, with the ball tucked under his arm!
And Knapp saw Judd, the only obstacle between him and a touchdown. Seven yards to go! Time almost up! Knapp ran straight at Judd; then as the rube dove for a tackle, he jumped clear.
Pennington gave a lusty cheer,—then a groan of dismay, for Judd had rolled quickly over and made a frantic grab at the flying feet as they passed him. His right hand came in contact with Knapp's right ankle and closed over it like a vice. Knapp fell his full length prone upon the ground. Such a cheer as went up from the Bartlett stands! Everyone was on their feet lauding Judd. And just then the whistle blew calling time for the first half.
It was a much different team that left the field after that last two minutes of play. A new spirit now prevailed. Although woefully battered, out-generaled, and outplayed, beaten by a 13 to 0 score, Judd's presence had produced the tonic which revived their spirits and restored the punch which had been sadly lacking.
Benz and Neil escorted Judd to the sidelines whispering happily in his ears.
"You stopped 'em, old fellow! You saved another touchdown! Great stuff! Just wait until next half!"
"Say!" exploded Judd, ignoring the praise, "That little sucker is a spry one, isn't he? A shoe-string more an' I'd never have caught him!"
Bob rushed out and greeted Judd before he reached the sidelines.
"Fine work, old man! You're a wonder! I knew you would be if they ever gave you a chance. Why, say, it was worth coming a hundred miles just to see those two plays! Shake hands, Buddy. You don't know how glad I am to see you. Hold on, what's this,—blood?"
"Yep," grinned Judd, gazing a bit ruefully at his right hand which was swollen and bleeding. "That big jumbo Gordon put his foot on it."
"Here, let me fix it for you." Bob hunted up some tape and bandages.
Judd sat down in the circle of football men. Coach Phillips had a kind word for every man. He praised Judd especially for his great work during the last two minutes of the first half. The rube's face glowed with pleasure. For the first time he was beginning to feel the college spirit and a great ambition surged up within him for Bartlett to win the game. But the word which gave him deepest satisfaction and fired him with determination came from Cateye.
"I'm proud of you, pal. Remember—you're fighting for Bartlett and for me!"
A tremendous roar swept across the field as the two teams trotted upon the gridiron for the beginning of the second half.
Judd was given another cheer by the Bartlett stands. He seemed totally oblivious of it all.
Benz shouted to him. "Rube, they're cheering you!"
"Are they?" was the rube's careless rejoinder.
The coach had told him to watch Gordon and Judd intended above all else to follow instructions closely.
Pennington kicked off. Judd watched the ball sail into the air; then realized, with a sudden start, that it was coming to him! He braced himself for the catch. Benz and Potts shot past him.
"Follow us!" they shouted.
The stands were yelling wildly. Judd dodged in behind his interference. He crossed three white chalked lines without trouble. Then the interference crumpled and went down in a heap. Judd saw a big, dark looking face come close to his own, and eager outstretched arms. Instinctively he stuck out his hand and the face vanished. But another and yet another figure loomed up ahead! Judd turned to the left hoping to escape, but he was struck by two tacklers, one from each side. He crawled to his feet with team-mates thumping him on the back, and looked about him. The ball was on Pennington's forty-five yard line. Judd had made a twenty-five yard run!
He had barely time to catch his breath. Neil was yelling signals and the next play came straight through his position. Judd strained every muscle, felt the opposing line give, and saw Benz shoot through for a six yard gain. A succession of plays gave Bartlett first down!
But Pennington was fighting desperately. Although Bartlett rushed the ball to the twenty yard line it went over on downs and Pennington punted out of danger.
The greater part of the quarter was very evenly contested. The ball changed hands many times, neither team being able to gain consistently. Judd's great defensive work, he seeming to be in the heart of every play, helped wonderfully toward breaking the backbone of the Pennington offense.
In the latter part of the quarter, with the ball in Bartlett's possession on the fifty yard line, Benz negotiated a pretty twenty yard run around the left end of the line. While making a sharp turn to avoid a tackle, however, Benz sprained his right ankle. Time was taken out and the ankle bandaged up.
This was a serious blow to the team as Benz had been called into service extensively to punt Bartlett out of danger. He also had been the best ground gainer. The team was again disheartened as they changed goals prior to the playing of the last quarter.
Judd sensed the drooping spirits of his teammates and called out encouragingly: "Never mind that, pals. Let's die fightin'. We're not whipped yet!"
Pole and Potts, right end and tackle, respectively, were both badly bruised and exhausted, but game to the core. Benz was staying in the line-up though he could scarcely stand. Left tackle, Oole, playing next to Judd, had done nothing for the last five minutes, but fill the gap at his position. The rube had been doing the work of two men most of the quarter. The score still stood, Pennington, 13; Bartlett, 0.
The last quarter opened with Harriett's ball on Pennington's thirty yard line. Now that Benz was practically laid out, Neil called upon Patterson and Gary to do the bulk of the work in carrying the ball. Bartlett made a slow but steady advance. Neil, finding that Judd opened big holes on every play, sent most of his plays through that side of the line. Benz limped along, helping what he could as interference.
The stands were quieter now. The great game was three-quarters over. Bartlett had put up a wonderful fight against a much better team, and lost. The Penningtonites were just toying with them now, playing a defensive game.
But, what's this? The stands came to life with a jump and a howl! Neil, quarterback, had taken the ball and dodged through a hole in the line made by Judd. He passed by his interference and the Pennington linemen. As he did this and entered the open field, Gordon, fullback, rushed in and made a clean tackle, hitting Neil so hard that the ball was knocked completely out of his grasp. Judd, who was following up on the play, saw the ball bound away and was after it. Instead of falling upon it he scooped it up and, although tackled by two men, he dragged them the remaining five yards for a touchdown!
"Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rube! Rube! Rube!" boomed theBartlett rooters.
"Bully work, Rube!" shouted Benz. "Say,—did you ever try kicking goals? My ankle's no good,—"
"Well,—I reckon I can if I have to."
Benz held the ball. Judd poised it to his liking. He seemedunconscious of the tremendous ovation the stands were giving him.Plunk! The ball whizzed over the goal posts! Score, Pennington, 13;Bartlett, 7.
"Say!" gasped Neil, weakly. "Take me out! I'm all in!"
The heavy tackle by Gordon had shaken him up badly. Potts and Judd helped Neil to the sidelines.
"Rip 'em up gang! We'll trim 'em yet!" were his parting words.
McCabe, substitute quarter, alive with pep and joy at his chance, jumped in at Neil's place and helped revive the gathering spirits of the team, exhorting every man to do his utmost.
Judd kicked off to Pennington. McCabe, inspired by his first chance, shot off down the field like a flash, eluding the advance guard, and downing the Pennington runner single handed, on his thirty yard line.
Bartlett was now fully alive and fighting hard but Pennington was battling just as stubbornly. Pennington made her first down largely due to the work of Gordon who went through the right side of the line, three successive times, for big gains. Pole and Potts had been giving their last ounce of strength to prevent the Pennington line from breaking through, but to no avail.
A halt was called in the game and two other Bartlett subs, Thorpe andPreston, got their chances.
Now Pennington shifted her attack to the other side of the line and Judd, almost worn out, was called upon to give all the power he had to stop further gaining.
Knapp slipped away for another long run. The ball was on Bartlett's fifteen yard line and eight minutes left to play.
A fresh man was now sent in to oppose Judd, and Pennington's determined drive toward the goal resumed. Judd had eyes only for Gordon. He dropped the big fellow twice as he tore through the line. An attempted forward pass failed. Gordon charged through the line for three yards, but this was not enough. The ball went over to Bartlett on her nine yard line.
Benz limped up, and grasping Judd by the arm, shouted in his ear: "I'll switch positions with you. You drop back and punt that ball out of danger! Punt it hard!"
"But I've never punted in a real game!" protested Judd.
"Never mind that! You're the only man that can do it. Quick. Time's almost up!"
Judd needed no further urging. He took Benz's position.
"Hold that line, fellows!" he begged, as he held out his big hands for the ball.
"Get through and block that punt!" screamed Knapp.
The ball snapped back. The pass came high and Judd was forced to jump for it. He saw a form lurch before him and a pair of hands go up. Then he kicked. His right toe caught the ball squarely and drove it high and far down the field. When it finally fell, McCabe and Thorpe were waiting for the man to receive it and downed him where he stood.
Everyone in the Bartlett stands had risen to their feet. Such playing, such a reversal in form, had never before been seen! Judd's punt had carried sixty yards! The ball was Pennington's on their thirty-one yard line and four minutes left to play!
Pennington made a desperate attempt to gain but Bartlett was growing stronger every second in her effort to recover the ball. Even Gordon's line plunges were repulsed.
Now the Pennington coach relied on strategy to keep the Bartlett eleven from threatening the Red and Blue goal line in the short time left. He sent in a substitute for the left end who advised Knapp to call for a punt. This Knapp prepared to do; Melvin, Pennington punter, dropping back to make the kick.
Benz saw the action with sinking heart. A long punt now with two minutes left to play meant sure defeat for Bartlett, and while they were within striking distance he felt a fighting chance.
"Break up that punt, fellows!" he pleaded, "You've got to get through and block that punt or the game is lost!"
The Pennington line braced for what they felt, the final effort. Judd, fairly outdoing himself, flung guard and tackle aside and fell through. McCabe jumped over his prostrate body and leaped in front of the kicker. The ball struck him full in the face and bounded over his head to the forty yard line. Benz fell on it, joyfully.
McCabe, blinking dazedly from the blow, marshalled his battered forces for the last supreme attempt. Patterson made five yards on an end run. McCabe had his men up on their feet and into the game immediately after the play.
There was no time to be lost!
McCabe had been especially drilled in trick plays as Coach Phillips imagined if he were used at all it would be toward the end of the game. He now worked the first one, a double pass behind the line, Benz hurling the ball to Gary who shot around left end for fifteen yards.
The great crowd had gone mad by this time! Timekeepers began consulting their watches. Pennington stands entreated their eleven to "Hold 'em" while the Bartlett rooters shrieked, "Touchdown! Touchdown!"
With half a minute left to play McCabe relied on a great trick play to win. The crowd was making such a noise that he had to call his backs in to give them the signals. He repeated these signals twice to make sure that they were understood, despite each precious second of time. The ball was on Pennington's twenty yard line.
The success of the play depended largely upon Judd and Benz, and a complete deception of the opposing line. Benz had been hardly more than a mere figurehead in the last quarter and Pennington would not be expecting him to carry the ball.
McCabe shifted the right side of his line over. The ball was snapped back to Benz. Judd swung out of the line and raced across as interference. Oole filled the gap left by Judd with his body, and—before the Pennington line realized the trick Benz was well on his way toward the goal. The play took nerve, a great amount of nerve, on Benz's part. He forced himself to run swiftly, bearing his weight equally on his injured ankle.
"Catch hold of my belt!" cried Judd, as he lurched ahead of him. "I'll take you through!"
Benz placed his hand on Judd's broad back and strove to keep pace with him. He stumbled dizzily across two chalk marks and was vaguely aware of shaking off some tackler from behind. A few more steps. Everything was getting black! His hand pushed heavily against the lunging Judd, for support. Then, directly in front of Benz, danced the jeering face of Gordon! He felt Judd's body slide away from him—lost sight of Gordon. There was a dark, struggling mound at his feet! He made a desperate jump and cleared it; fell forward upon his knees; crawled a few paces; then pitched over upon his face.
When Benz came to himself the great game was all history. A howling mob was upon the field dancing about a huge bonfire which dispelled the falling darkness. A few of his team-mates surrounded him.
"If it hadn't been for my sprained ankle, fellows," sobbed Benz, "I'd have made that touchdown. I,—I kept up as long as I could but,—but,—"
"What are you talking about, man? You made a touchdown!" yelled aBartlett enthusiast.
"Me! Made a touchdown?" Benz was recovering fast now.
"Sure! You crawled over the goal line on your knees!"
"Zowie!—and then?"
"Rube kicked goal."
"Great snakes, … WE WON!"
Benz was too overjoyed and excited to speak.
At last, "Come on, guys, tell me a little more details. This suspense is awful," he begged.
"Well," volunteered McCabe, "It was the prettiest play of the game. You and Rube got away to almost a clear field. You legged it along all right for ten yards, then you commenced to limp. Rube slowed up for you and Knapp struck you from behind. But somehow you shook him off and stumbled on. Gordon came tearing up and dove at you but Judd threw himself between and Gordon hit the ground like a ton of bricks. You jumped over the two of them and staggered on. My, but those were anxious seconds! At the three yard line you fell upon your knees and crawled the rest of the distance while three tacklers were beating it up to get you. Just as you reached the line all three seemed to hit you at once and knocked you forward. Then the whistle blew! When the referee untangled the mess and rolled you upon your back he found you froze to the ball, a foot over the line. Talk about a death grip—they had to pry that old pigskin loose! Say, Benz, after that,—you missed the biggest lot of noise that ever happened!"
"Tell me about Rube," pleaded Benz, "My touchdown only tied the score.His kicked goal won the game!"
"Oh yes," went on McCabe, "You made your touchdown at the right side of the field. Time was allowed for the try at goal. Rube was forced to attempt the goal kick at a frightful angle. The crowd was making such a demonstration, some people even running on the field, that I don't see how he ever did it. I held the ball for him. He took his time, fixed it just so; then stepped back. He was cool as a cucumber. The Pennington bunch glowered at him from between their goal posts. Then when the play came the field got suddenly quiet. Everyone was standing up holding their breath as Rube booted the ball. It sailed up, scraped the goal post, just clearing the bar, and the game was ours! After that, … skyrockets!"
"Say! Where is Rube now?"
"Heaven knows! A second later the crowd pounced upon him like a tribe of Indians. I thought they'd tear him to pieces. They carried him off with them."
"The lucky stiff!" laughed Benz, but there was no malice in that remark now.
The students bearing Judd faced about in front of the crackling bonfire. Cries of "Speech! Speech!" came from Bartlett rooters.
Judd sat on their shoulders, blinking from the light of the fire and stage-struck at the sea of flickering, ghostly faces in front of him.
"Say something, quick!" whispered McCabe, who stood eyeing the rube, proudly. "I'd give a kingdom to be in your shoes now!"
"You can have my place for nothin'," offered Judd, generously.
The crowd quieted down and waited expectantly. The rube was so well known and such a favorite by this time.
Finally Judd calmed himself enough to face the ordeal. He raised his head and looked out over the crowd.
"Fellows, before I say anythin' more…" he started. But such a flood of laughter and cheering greeted these words that he could get no further.
"Gee!" complimented McCabe, "You've scored a touchdown from kick-off!"
Bob and Cateye came pushing their way through the crowd, supporting a limping Benz between them.
"Rube …!" started Benz, face beaming. "I … er … mean—Judd!"
Bartlett's hero of the hour grinned.
"No you don't Benz … you mean Rube. You couldn't really call me anything else and I wouldn't want you to. I reckon that name fits me best."
"All right, then!" conceded Benz, cuffing Judd playfully, "Though I claim I'm really the rube for calling you a rube!"
And then Cateye said something about the team's planning to make Judd next year's captain and Bob brought cheers by giving out that he was returning to college next fall.
"Gosh, that does me out of a room-mate," said Judd, suddenly, with a mischievous glance at his brother.
"Not necessarily," spoke up Benz, "What do you say, Rube, to … er … bunking with me?"
Benz and Judd—room-mates! This would astound the college.
"I've been known to talk in my sleep," Judd warned, grinning.
"Yelland see if I care!" accepted Benz.
And so, feuds ended, there came to one Judd Billings the tingling realization of what real college spirit meant. It had taken him all this while to get back in step after starting in college on the wrong foot. He had developed so very much in the past few years from a timid, awkward youth at Trumbull High who had fought so hard to live up to his brother Bob's contract—and later, as a Freshman at Bartlett, unused to the ways of the fellows but with his old-time fear conquered. But now Judd knew, happily, that he was one with all the fellows for a cheer was being proposed in honor of "Bartlett's Big Four"—Bob and Cateye and Benz and—Rube! And the ones who were responding to this cheer the loudest were his own team-mates!