Down came the Harwell line once more to the twenty yards, but here they stopped.  For on a pass from quarter to left half, the latter, one Joel March of our acquaintance, fumbled the ball, dived quickly after it, and landed on the Yates left guard, who had plunged through and now lay with the pigskin safe beneath him!

It is difficult to either describe or appreciate the full depth of Joel’s agony as he picked himself up and limped back to his place.  It was a heart-tearing, blinding sensation that left him weak and limp.  But there was nothing for it save to go on and try to retrieve his fatal error.  The white face of Story turned toward him, and Joel read in the brief glance no anger, only an almost tearful grief.  He swung upon his heel with a muttered word that sounded ill from his lips.  But he was only a boy and the provocation was great; let us not remember it against him.

The Yates center threw back the ball for a kick, and Joel went down the field after it.  As he ran he wondered if Story would try him again.  It seemed doubtful, but if he did—­Joel ground his teeth—­he would take it through the line!  They would see!  Just give him one chance to retrieve that fumble!  A year later and he had learned that a misplay, even though it lose the game for your side, may in time be lived down.  But now that knowledge was not his, and a heart-rending picture of disgrace before the whole college presented itself to him.

Then Blair had the ball, was off, was tackled near the side line under the Yates stand, and the two teams were quickly lined up again.  The cheers from the friends of the blue were so loud that the quarter’s voice giving the signal was scarcely to be heard.  Joel crept nearer.  Then his heart leaped up into his throat and stood still.

“7—­1—­2!”

There was no mistake!  It was left half’s ball on a double pass for a run around right end!  The line-up was within eight yards of the east side line.  The play was the third of the second sequence, in which Joel with the other backs had been well instructed, and its chance of success lay in the fact that it had the appearance of a full-back punt or a run around the long side of the field.  Joel leaned forward, facing the left end.  Blair crept a few feet in.

“7—­1—!” began the quarter.

The ball was snapped, Blair ran three strides nearer, the quarter turned, and the pigskin flew back.  Joel started like a shot, seized the ball from the full-back’s outstretched hands, and sped toward the right end of the line.  The right half crossed in front of him, the right end and tackle thrust back their opponents, the left tackle and guard blocked hard and long.  Blair helped the right half in his diversion at the left end, and Joel, with Dutton interfering and Blair a stride behind, swept around the end.

The only danger was in being forced over the touch line, but the play worked well, and the opposing tackle seemed anchored.  The Yates end, from his place back of the line, leaped at them, but was upset by Dutton, and the two went down together.  The opposing left half bore down upon Joel and Blair, the latter speeding along at the runner’s side, and came at them with outstretched arms.  Another moment and Joel was alone.  Story and the half were just a mass of waving legs and arms many yards behind.