cause for
loud acclaim.

"Bully tackle, that," said Neil. Stone nodded.

"Seems to me we can get around those ends," he muttered; "especially the
left. I don't think Bloch is much of a wonder. There goes Pearse."

The ends were again worked by the two half-backs and the distance thrice
won. The purple banners waved ecstatically and the cheers for Erskine
thundered out. Neil was slapping Stone wildly on the knee.

"Hold on," protested the left end, "try the other. That one's a bit
lame."

"Isn't Pearse a peach?" said Neil. "Oh, but I wish I was out there!"

"You may get a whack at it yet," answered Stone. "There goes a jab at
the line."

"I may," sighed Neil. He paused and watched Mason get a yard through the
Brown's left tackle. "Only, if I don't, I suppose I won't get my E."

"Oh, yes, you will. The Artmouth game counts, you know."

"I wasn't in it."

"That's so, you weren't; I'd forgotten. But I think you'll get it, just
the--Good work, Gale!" Paul had made four yards outside of tackle, and
it was again Erskine's first down on the fifty-five-yard line. The
cheers from the north stand were continuous; Neil and Stone were obliged
to put their heads together to hear what each other said.

For five minutes longer Erskine's wonderful good fortune continued, and
the ball was at length on Robinson's twenty-eight yards near the north
side-line. Foster was waving his hand entreatingly toward the seats,
begging for a chance to make his signals heard. From across the field,
in the sudden comparative stillness of the north stand, thundered the
confident slogan of Robinson. The brown-stockinged captain and
quarter-back was shouting incessantly:

"Steady now, fellows! Break through! Break through! Smash 'em up!" He
ran from one end to the other, thumping each encouragingly on the back,
whispering threats and entreaties into their ears. "Now, then, Robinson,
let's stop 'em right here!"

Foster, red-faced and hoarse, leaned forward, patted Stowell on the
thigh, caught the ball, passed it quickly to Mason as that youth plunged
for the line, and then threw himself into the breach, pushing, heaving,
fighting for every inch that gave under his torn and scuffled shoes.

"Second down; four to gain!"

Robinson was awake now to her danger. Foster saw the futility of further
attempts at the line for the present and called for a run around left
end. The ball went to Pearse, but Bloch for once was ready for him, and,
getting