through a scrimmage," so while the
players are scrambling to their feet, and waiting for the ball to be
"grounded," I will explain what our method of doing the thing was.

It was nothing more nor less than a carrying out of the principle of the
wedge. The ball formed the apex; the fellows got up close to it, so as
never to let it out of reach of their four feet. Behind these two came
three with locked arms, and behind the three, four. The men in the
middle pushed straight ahead, and those at the sides inwards towards the
ball, while the two or three remaining forwards lent their weight to one
side or other of the base, according as the exigencies of the scrimmage
demanded. Thus our wedge, embodying a concentrated pressure in the
direction of the ball, the farther it advanced the farther it scattered
asunder the foe, who fell off from its gradually widening sides without
hope of getting again within reach of the ball except by retreating to
the rear and beginning the struggle over afresh. When this manoeuvre
was well executed, it was almost certain to carry the ball through the
scrimmage, and when that happened, then was the time for us half and
quarter-backs to look out for our chance.

Our men went at it with their customary vigour and address, and
presently the ball emerged on the far side of the scrimmage. In an
instant it was caught up by one of the Craven quarter-backs, and in an
instant our men were upon him again before he could get a start for a
run. Scrimmage after scrimmage ensued, the ball was constantly in
Chancery, but each crush brought us a yard or so nearer the enemy's goal
than we had been before.

All this time I was little better than a spectator, for the ball never
once came within reach of my fingers, and I was beginning to think that,
after all, a big match was not so exciting a thing as one is apt to
imagine.

At last, however, after one scrimmage more desperate than any that had
gone before, the ball flew out suddenly, and bounded off one of the
Craven men into my grasp. Now was my chance. "If only I could--"

The next thing I was conscious of was that about twenty people had
fallen to the ground all of a heap, and that I and the ball were at the
bottom.

"Down!" I cried.

"Pack up there, Parkhurst!" sang out Wright.

I extricated myself as quickly as I could, and got back to my place in
the rear, thinking to myself, after all, there _was_ some little
excitement in football.