parked in the road near the edge of the field. As he came
nearer, he called out:

"Oh, what the hell's all this palaver about. Let's take him." He
lunged for Professor Brierly, his hand outstretched.

Matthews got into motion at the same time. The third policeman did
not quite reach Professor Brierly. A hard, bony fist struck him
about two inches above the belt buckle. He folded up, emitting a
hoarse grunt, his bulging eyes mirroring acute pain. The mate to
the first fist whipped up in a short vicious arc. The man's head
snapped backward. His knees wilted; he fell to the ground slowly
as a tree falls; he lay there quietly.

The two other policemen had moved forward. Jimmy moved toward
them. Jimmy was never quite good enough to make the varsity team
in his four years at college. But he had tried for four years and
he had always been on the squad. His coach had, what amounted to a
phobia, in the matter of blocking. Thus Jimmy, if he learned
nothing else, had learned how to block. His coach had said
repeatedly that no man can become a football player unless he
learn to block. He had blocked and tackled big, fast, bruising
varsity players for four years. And this was a time when the
flying block and the flying tackle were not barred. Jimmy had also
been taught that "clipping," blocking from the rear, was dangerous
to the blockee and was severely penalized.

Jimmy took a few mincing steps. His compact one hundred and
fifty-eight pounds left the ground and turned sideways. Jimmy's right
hip struck one of the blue coats right back of the knees at the
joints. The man uttered a howl of anguish. There was a nasty snap.
The man had a bad fracture that would keep him limping for the
rest of his life. In falling, the man's hands flailed wildly. One
of these hands struck Jimmy squarely in the eye. Jimmy got up
quickly, his normally mild brown eyes blazing. He was just in time
to see the finish.

The third man had reached for a gun. A long iron arm reached out,
a large hand seized the hand with the weapon. Two men nearly of
equal height stood facing another. The eyes of one reflected
surprise, anger and disappointment. The eyes of the other were now
the color of cloudy ice. They were blazing with cold ferocity. The
one thing needed to drive Matthews into a murderous rage had
happened: an assault on Professor Brierly. In addition to the vast
respect and veneration Matthews had for the old man he had a
tenderness for him such as