make
sure that they were understood, despite each precious second of time.
The ball was on Pennington's twenty yard line.

The success of the play depended largely upon Judd and Benz, and a
complete deception of the opposing line. Benz had been hardly more
than a mere figurehead in the last quarter and Pennington would not be
expecting him to carry the ball.

McCabe shifted the right side of his line over. The ball was snapped
back to Benz. Judd swung out of the line and raced across as
interference. Oole filled the gap left by Judd with his body,
and--before the Pennington line realized the trick Benz was well on his
way toward the goal. The play took nerve, a great amount of nerve, on
Benz's part. He forced himself to run swiftly, bearing his weight
equally on his injured ankle.

"Catch hold of my belt!" cried Judd, as he lurched ahead of him. "I'll
take you through!"

Benz placed his hand on Judd's broad back and strove to keep pace with
him. He stumbled dizzily across two chalk marks and was vaguely aware
of shaking off some tackler from behind. A few more steps. Everything
was getting black! His hand pushed heavily against the lunging Judd,
for support. Then, directly in front of Benz, danced the jeering face
of Gordon! He felt Judd's body slide away from him--lost sight of
Gordon. There was a dark, struggling mound at his feet! He made a
desperate jump and cleared it; fell forward upon his knees; crawled a
few paces; then pitched over upon his face.

When Benz came to himself the great game was all history. A howling
mob was upon the field dancing about a huge bonfire which dispelled the
falling darkness. A few of his team-mates surrounded him.

"If it hadn't been for my sprained ankle, fellows," sobbed Benz, "I'd
have made that touchdown. I,--I kept up as long as I could
but,--but,--"

"What are you talking about, man? You made a touchdown!" yelled a
Bartlett enthusiast.

"Me! Made a touchdown?" Benz was recovering fast now.

"Sure! You crawled over the goal line on your knees!"

"Zowie!--and then?"

"Rube kicked goal."

"Great snakes, ... WE WON!"

Benz was too overjoyed and excited to speak.

At last, "Come on, guys, tell me a little more details. This suspense
is awful," he begged.

"Well," volunteered McCabe, "It was the prettiest play of the game.
You and Rube got away to almost a clear field. You legged it along all
right for ten yards, then you commenced to lim