o fail in
everything.

Bob watched Judd as he swayed upon his feet; his eyes followed him as
he lunged forward and took the ball once more; he lost sight of Judd
for a moment, then saw him come straining through the line with a
tackler hanging to his waist.

The tackler's hand slipped off ... Judd shook himself free ... Bob
wanted to shout, "Look out!" as he saw Drake dive for him ... then he
caught his breath as the kid dodged the fullback but slipped and fell.
Drake turned and threw himself upon Judd as Judd rolled over and
planted the ball over the goal line.

The name "Billings" rang from one end of the field to the other, with
the substitute fullback being lifted to his feet and pummeled by his
team-mates who were crazy with joy ... but Judd was so fatigued that
his attempt at a goal after a touchdown went wide. Two minutes more to
play and the score 14 to 12 in favor of Canton.

It was Trumbull's kickoff, Barley begging Judd to hurry up. Judd swung
his toe against the ball and started to follow his kick dazedly. The
ball, water-soaked and heavy, carried to Canton's five yard line. The
best Canton could do was carry it back ten yards.

Because the game was so nearly over ... the Canton quarterback ordered
a punt. "Mud Scow" Drake, with a self-confident smile on his
dirt-rimmed face, stood with his arms outstretched waiting to send the
ball far down the field ... crushing the last slight hope of victory
from Trumbull. It had been a terrific game ... and Drake was conscious
of his power now as never before.

Barley, realizing that this was the most critical moment in the entire
game, ran along the line exhorting the half dead linesmen to a final
frenzied effort.

"Get in there, fellows, and block that kick! Block that kick!"

The sidelines took up the frenzied cry.

Drake's hands closed upon the ball, he raised it shoulder high and let
it drop, his muddy foot came up to meet it ... but just at that instant
a body shot against him ... there was the hollow plunk of a ball
striking a rather soft object and a mad scramble of flying forms.

When the referee had pulled the players apart he found Fenstermaker,
Trumbull guard, lying face down upon the ball. Trumbull's ball on
Canton's eleven yard line ... and fifty seconds left to play!

Judd knew that he was not capable of carrying the ball another foot.
He instinctively realized that Canton would repulse any effort that
Trumbull might make at running