As Campbell perceives his desperate case, he begins to swear low,
fierce oaths at his quarters. In all their experience of their captain
the 'Varsity men have never heard him swear, and they awake to the fact
that they are face to face with a situation entirely unparalleled in
their history as a team. They are being defeated, and about to lose
their one chance of the proud distinction of holding the championship
of Canada.

From man to man Campbell goes as he finds opportunity his face white,
his eyes ablaze, adjuring, urging, entreating, commanding, in a way
quite unusual with him.

A new spirit seizes the men. Savagely they press the enemy. They are
never off the ball, but follow it as hounds a hare, and they fling
themselves so fiercely at their foe that in every tackle a McGill man
goes down to earth.

But try as they may it seems impossible to get the ball to The Don. The
McGill men have realised their danger and have men specially detailed
to block the great 'Varsity half. Again and again The Don receives the
ball; but before he can get away these men are upon him.

At length, however, the opportunity comes. By a low, swift pass from
Brown, Martin receives the ball and immediately transfers it to The
Don. Straight into the midst of a crowd of McGill men he plunges,
knocking off the hands reaching for him, slipping through impossible
apertures, till he emerges at the McGill line with little Carroll
hanging on to his shoulders, and staggering across falls fairly into
the arms of big Mooney.

Down they go all three together, with hands on the ball.

"What is it? Oh, what is it?" shrieks Betty, springing upon the box.

"I am thinking it is what they will be calling a maul in goal, and it
is a peety we cannot be seeing it," replies the dauntless old lady.

"Oh, it's The Don," exclaims Betty anxiously. "What are they doing to
him? Run, oh, run and see!" and Lloyd runs off.

"It's a maul sure enough. Two of them have The Don down," he announces,
"but he'll hold all right," he adds quickly, glancing keenly at Betty.

"Let me go," cried Betty. "I must go."

"Betty," says Helen, in a low voice, "be quiet."

"Oh, I don't care," cries Betty passionately. "I want to go."

"He'll hold all right," says Lloyd confidently, and Betty grows
suddenly quiet.

"Ay, that he will, yon chap," agrees Mrs. Macgregor, standing up and
trying to see what is going on.

"If The Don can hold for three minutes it will count tw