rust forward, pushing, heaving on, until
everything piled up before him. Four yards gained.

A second time they repeated the play, making the first down.

"Time to spring a quick one through us," he thought.

But again DeSoto elected the same play.

"What's he trying to do?" said Dink. "Why don't he vary it?"

Some one hauled him out of the tangled pile. It was Tough McCarty.

"Say, our tackle's a stiff one," he said, with his mouth to Stover's
ear. "You take his knees; I'll take him above this time."

Their signal came at last. Dink dove, trying to meet the shifting
knees and throw him off his balance. The next moment a powerful arm
caught him as he left the ground and swept him aside.

"Any gain?" he asked anxiously as he came up.

"Only a yard," said McCarty. "He got through and smeered the play."

"I know how to get him next time," said Dink.

The play was repeated. This time Stover made a feint and then dove
successfully after the big arm had swept fruitlessly past. Flash
Condit, darting through the line, was tackled by Goodhue and fell
forward for a gain.

"How much?" said Stover, rising joyfully.

"They're measuring."

The distance was tried and found to be two feet short of the necessary
five yards. The risk was too great, a kick was signaled and the ball
was Andover's, just inside the center of the field.

"Now, Lawrenceville," cried the captain, "show what you're made of."

The test came quickly, a plunge between McCarty and Lentz yielded
three yards, a second four. The Andover attack, with the same
precision as before, struck anywhere between the tackles and found
holes. Dink, at the bottom of almost every pile, raged at Tough
McCarty.

"He's doing nothing, he isn't fighting," he said angrily. "He doesn't
know what it is to fight. Why doesn't he break up that interference
for me?"

When the attack struck his end now it turned in, slicing off tackle,
the runner well screened by close interference that held him up when
Stover tackled, dragging him on for the precious yards. Three and four
yards at a time, the blue advance rolled its way irresistibly toward
the red and black goal. They were inside the twenty-yard line now.

Cockrell was pleading with them. Little Charlie DeSoto was running
along the line, slapping their backs, calling frantically on them to
throw the blue back.

And gradually the line did stiffen, slowly but perceptibly the advance
was cut down. Enmities were forgotten w