ine!"

There was the sloppy crunching of body against body as the slippery
ball snapped back to Billings. Judd caught it, juggled it, recovered
and kicked. The ball arched skyward in a twisting spiral. Trumbull
ends, making a quick get away, went stumbling and sliding down the
field.

Drake stood under the punt, waiting to catch it. As he reached up to
grab it a Trumbull end hit him, the slippery ball eluded his wet
fingers and bounced a few feet away. The other end, closing in, dove
for the ball. There was a wet mass of muddy forms disputing
possession. The referee dug down to the bottom of the heap.
Trumbull's ball on Canton's seventeen yard line!

The first real break in the game had favored Trumbull. Barley pounced
upon Judd and hugged him happily. "Good boy, Judd ... we're going to
score!" The team showed new spirit. Every man was on his toes. Only
seventeen yards away from a touchdown! The stands began to come to
life. "Yeah, Trumbull ... Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"

Signals! Judd was conscious of them ... but he was also conscious that
the signals had a direct relation to him. He knew, for instance, that
the first play was going through left guard and that he was to form
interference for the right half. The ball was passed back. Judd
automatically crossed in front of the right half and charged toward the
Canton left guard ... but Canton had broken through ... and he found
himself confronted with two determined-looking tacklers. He slipped
and half fell into them and both opponents fell with him. The right
half plunged on over them, Judd feeling a foot on the scruff of his
neck as his face went down in the mud. The play netted a bare yard.

Signals! It seemed that he had scarcely gained his feet before he was
whirled into another play. Barley was pepping up the team ... he was
putting drive into them ... and he was calling Billings' number!

Judd took the ball and fell in behind his interference. He circled the
end, running wide. A tackler attempted to reach him but slipped and
went down in the gummy mire. He stuck out his hand and another tackler
dropped away from him. He was conscious of the rain on his face ...
and it seemed that for every foot he advanced ... he slid two feet
backward. Judd now found himself running alone. He turned in as he
came to a strip of white along the edge of the field, catching a
fleeting glimpse of umbrellas and huddled spectators ... then he saw
the bi