hammer away at center, guard, or tackle with “guards back” or “tandem,” to score eventually.  And that is what she did.  And yet four times did Hillton hold St. Eustace literally on her goal-line and take the ball.  And each time by hook or crook, by a short, weak punt or a clever, dashing run around end, did Hillton win back a portion of her lost territory, only to lose it again at the second or third attempt to advance the ball.

The halves were twenty-five minutes long, and in that first twenty-five minutes St. Eustace scored but once, though near it thrice that many times.  Allen, St. Eustace’s right half-back, had plunged over the line for a touch-down at the end of fifteen minutes of play and Terrill had missed an easy goal.  Then the grand stand was silent save for one small patch, whereon blue flags went crazy and swirled and leaped and danced up and down as though possessed of life.  And over the field sped, sharp and triumphant, the St. Eustace cheer.  And the score stood:  St. Eustace 5, Hillton O.

The first half ended with the leather but ten yards from the north goal, and a great murmuring sigh of relief went up from the seats and from along the side-lines when the whistle sounded.  Then the Hillton players, pale, dirty, half defeated, trotted lamely off the field and around the corner of the stand to the little weather-beaten shed which served for dressing room.  And the blue-clad team trotted joyfully down to their stage, and there, behind the canvas protections were rubbed down and plastered up, and slapped on the back by their delighted coach and trainer.

In the Hillton quarters life was less cheerful during the ten minutes of intermission.  After the fellows had rubbed and redressed, Remsen talked for a minute or two.  There was no scolding, and no signs of either disappointment or discouragement.  But he cautioned the team against carelessness, predicted a tied score at the end of fifteen minutes, and called for three-times-three for Hillton, which was given with reviving enthusiasm.  A moment later the team trotted back to the field.

     “Touch her down,
      Touch her down,
      Touch her down again! 
      H-I-double-L-T-O-N!”

chanted the wearers of the crimson; and—­“St. Eustace!  St. Eustace!  St. Eustace!” shouted the visitors as they waved their bright blue banners in air.  The whistle piped merrily, the ball took its flight, and it was now or never for old Hillton!

Stephen Remsen joined the string of substitutes and found a seat on the big gray blanket which held Browne and Clausen.  From there he followed the progress of the game.

Outwardly he was as happy and contented, as cool and disinterested, as one of the goal posts.  Inwardly he was railing against the fate that had deprived Hillton of both the players who, had they been in the team, could have saved the crimson from defeat.  Wesley Blair joined him, and with scarce a word they watched St. Eustace revert to her previous tactics, and tear great gaping holes in the Hillton line, holes often large enough to admit of a coach and four, and more than large enough to allow Allen or Jansen to go tearing, galloping through, with the ball safe clutched, for three, five? or even a dozen yards!