to them. He wanted to win, did Reardon, and--

"All right here," he cried.

Neil went to his place, Simson retreated, suspicion written all over his
face, and the whistle sounded.

Neil met the next attack with his left shoulder fore-most. And it was
Erskine's ball on Robinson's fifty-yards.

On the first try around the Brown's left end Smith took the leather
twenty yards, catching Bloch napping. The north stand was on its feet in
an instant. Cheer after cheer broke forth encouraging the Purple
warriors to fight their way across those six remaining white lines and
wrest victory from defeat. But there was no time to struggle over the
thirty yards that intervened. A long run might bring a touch-down if
Erskine could again get a back around an end, but two minutes was too
short a time for line-bucking; and, besides, Reardon had his orders.

On the side-line the timekeeper was keeping a careful eye upon his
stop-watch.

A try by Neil outside of right tackle netted but a yard and left him
half fainting on the ground. Pearse set off for the left end of the line
on the next play, but never reached it; the Robinson right tackle got
through on to him and stopped him well back of his line.

"Third down," called the referee, "five to gain!"

The teams were lined up about half-way between the Robinson goal and the
south side of the field, the ball just inside the thirty-yard line.
Reardon had been directed to try for a field-goal as soon as he got
inside the twenty-five yards. This was only the thirty yards, and the
angle was severe. There was perhaps one chance in three of making a goal
from placement; a drop-kick was out of the question. Moreover, to make
matters more desperate, Neil was injured; just how badly Reardon didn't
know, but the other's white, drawn face told its own story. If the
attempt failed he would be held to blame by the coaches, if it succeeded
he would be praised for good generalship; it was a way coaches had. His
consideration of the problem lasted but a fraction of a minute. He
glanced at Neil and their eyes met. The quarter-back's mind was made up
on the instant.

"_Signal_!" he cried. "_Steady, fellows; we want this; every one hold
hard_!"

He trotted back to the thirty-five-yard line and dropped to his knees,
directly behind and almost facing center. Neil took up his position
three yards from him and facing the goal. Pearse and Smith stood guard
between him and the line. The Robinson right ha