oke kicks out, and he gives
the word to play strongly for touch, by the three trees. Away goes the
ball, and the bull-dogs after it, and in another minute there is a shout
of "In touch," "Our ball." Now's your time, old Brooke, while your men
are still fresh. He stands with the ball in his hand, while the two
sides form in deep lines opposite one another: he must strike it
straight out between them. The lines are thickest close to him, but
young Brooke and two or three of his men are shifting up further, where
the opposite line is weak. Old Brooke strikes it out straight and
strong, and it falls opposite his brother. Hurra! that rush has taken it
right through the School line, and away past the three trees, far into
their quarters, and young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close upon it.
The School leaders rush back shouting "Look out in goal," and strain
every nerve to catch him, but they are after the fleetest foot in Rugby.
There they go straight for the School goal-posts, quarters scattering
before them. One after another the bull-dogs go down, but young Brooke
holds on. "He is down." No! a long stagger, and the danger is past; that
was the shock of Crew, the most dangerous of dodgers. And now he is
close to the School goal, the ball not three yards before him. There is
a hurried rush of the School fags to the spot, but no one throws himself
on the ball, the only chance, and young Brooke has touched it right
under the School goal-posts.

The School leaders come up furious, and administer toco to the wretched
fags nearest at hand: they may well be angry, for it is all
Lombard-street to a china orange that the School-house kick a goal with
the ball touched in such a good place. Old Brooke of course will kick
it out, but who shall catch and place it? Call Crab Jones. Here he
comes, sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, the queerest, coolest
fish in Rugby: if he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would
just pick himself up without taking his hands out of his pockets or
turning a hair. But it is a moment when the boldest charger's heart
beats quick. Old Brooke stands with the ball under his arm motioning the
School back; he will not kick-out till they are all in goal, behind the
posts; they are all edging forwards, inch by inch, to get nearer for the
rush at Crab Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to catch the
ball. If they can reach and destroy him before he catches, the danger is
over; and with o