the School did not score at least three times. Foster did everything
during those awful minutes. Rush after rush he stopped, just as
Fitzgerald was looking dangerous, and he brought down his fly-half
every time. Gordon was amazed at his performance; he had always rather
looked down on him before. He had never imagined he was so plucky.

But it takes more than two unexpected tries to throw a School House side
off its balance for long. Soon the forwards began to reassert
themselves. Burgess the wing three-quarter, a self-satisfied member of
Buller's, who was in VI. B, and whose conceit far excelled his
performances, got away and began to look dangerous. But Gordon came up
behind him. He loathed Burgess, and flinging aside all the Fernhurst
traditions about collaring low, he leapt in the air, and crashed on top
of him. Burgess collapsed like paper. A great howl went up from the
School House. New life seemed to enter into the side. The grovel flocked
round, and Collins, heaving Burgess off the ball with a flying kick,
dribbled the ball to the half-way line. A scrum formed up and from the
heel Richards got the ball to Lovelace, who broke through the defence
and with a clear field ahead made for the line.

"Run like hell!" shouted Simonds from the touch-line. He was standing on
the masters' side of the ground, just in front of the Chief's wife. But
he was past caring about social etiquette. All he wanted was to see the
House ahead once more. "Faster, man, run--oh, damn!"

Just on the line the ubiquitous Livingstone caught him up, and the pair
rolled into touch. If, as some say, there is nothing much finer to watch
in football than an uphill fight, then the Thirds of 1913 was most
certainly the greatest game ever played on the Lower. Lighter and slower
than their opponents, the House kept them on the defensive for the rest
of the afternoon. Collins was a splendid sight, his hair fell in a
cascade over his eyes, his nose was bleeding, his jersey was torn half
off his back, but he did not care. His feet were everywhere, and anyone
who got in his light was sorry for it. Turner, with the thought that he
was the cause of Wilkinson's try, fought heroically. Once when
Williamson, a Claremont's forward, began to dribble, he rushed into him
sideways and with a "soccerbarge" knocked him flying into touch, and
took the ball back inside the twenty-five. It was a great fight. But no
one can strive successfully against the will of the god