lf turned and sped back
to join the quarter, whose commands to "Get through and stop this kick!"
were being shouted lustily from his position near the goal-line.

"Signal!" Reardon repeated. Graham stooped over the ball. Neil, pale but
with a little smile about his mouth, measured his distance. Victory
depended upon him. From where Reardon knelt to the goal was nearly forty
yards on a straight line and the angle was severe. If he made it, well
and good; if he missed--He recalled what Mills had told him ere he
sent him in:

"I think you can win this for us, Fletcher. Once inside their
twenty-five Reardon will give you the ball for a kick from drop or
placement, as you think best. Whatever happens, don't let your nerves
get the best of you. If you miss, why, you've missed, that's all. Don't
think the world's coming to an end because we've been beaten. A hundred
years from now, when you and I aren't even memories, Erskine will still
be turning out football teams. But if we can, we want to win. Just keep
cool and do your level best, that's all we ask. Now get in there."

Neil took a deep breath. He'd do his best. If the line held, the ball
ought to go over. He was cool enough now, and although his shoulder
seemed on fire, the smile about his mouth deepened and grew confident.
Reardon stretched forth his hands.

"_Signal!_" he cried for the third time; but no signal was forthcoming.
Instead Graham sped the ball back to him, steady and true, and the
Robinson line, almost caught napping, failed to charge until the oval
had settled into Reardon's hands and had been placed upon the ground
well cocked at the goal. Then the Brown's warriors broke through and
bore down, big and ugly, upon Pearse and Smith; but Neil was stepping
toward the ball; a long stride, a short one, a long one, and toe and
pigskin came together. Pearse was down and Smith was shouldering
valiantly at a big guard. Two blue-clad arms swept upward almost into
the path of the rising ball; there was a confused sound of crashing
bodies and rasping canvas, and then a Robinson man bounded against Neil
and sent him reeling to earth.

For an instant the desire to lie still and close his eyes was strong.
But there was the ball! He rolled half over, and raising himself on his
left hand looked eagerly toward the posts. The pigskin, turning lazily
over and over, was still in flight. Straight for the goal it was
speeding, but now it had begun to drop. Neil's heart stood