It is to be presumed that more than one heart under a canvas jacket was thumping loudly at that moment, but I doubt if any was trying harder to turn somersaults than Clint Thayer’s as he hustled across to where Kendall was gathering the pigskin in his arms.  But in the next moment Clint forgot all about his heart, forgot he even had one, for Kendall was plunging forward through the fast-gathering Claflin warriors and his work was cut out for him.  Back to the fifteen-yard line went the pigskin before the referee called it down, and Brimfield’s supporters cheered.

It is always something of a shock to realise that an event which has been dreaded for days has at last arrived.  During that tense moment wherein the blue-stockinged Briggs had cuddled the ball into position on the tee Clint had experienced just such a shock.  Only yesterday the Claflin game had been of the future, only this morning he had still viewed it uneasily as a thing impending, and now—­presto!—­it was here.  He endured for a long minute more kinds of stage-fright than he had ever dreamed of!  But action was a panacea for his malady, and the instant he thrust himself in the path of a plunging Claflin man, felt the impact of the hard-muscled body against him, recovered and fell into his place in the quickly-formed wedge of interference, the thrill of battle drove out fear.

Now Marvin was calling his signals, the Brimfield forwards were poising themselves for the assault, and Clint, hands on the ground, feet apart, head up, was watching every movement of his opponent.  And, simultaneously with the snapping of the ball, he was lunging upward and forward with both hands, all the muscles of his tense body behind that quick thrust, and the Claflin opponent, caught unawares, spun sideways and crashed into his guard, while Harris, the ball clutched to his stomach, smashed through and past and, stumbling, twisting, panting, pushed three yards of turf behind him before the Claflin backs pulled him down.

And so it went until Brimfield, taking the enemy by surprise, had won her way to the thirty-seven yards.  There someone mistook the signals, three yards were lost on second down, and, with seven to go, Harris punted high and far.  Clint found his opponents too much for him that time and was hurled aside.  Claflin caught on her thirty-three and ran back six.

Then Clint had a chance to prove himself on the defence, and prove himself he did on the second play.  The renowned Terrill, striving to draw Clint out from his guard, suddenly found himself nicely fooled, and Clint, swinging through inside, smeared the play well behind the Claflin line.  There was a vast feeling of satisfaction when his arms wrapped themselves around the legs of that blue-stockinged left half and held like a vise.  The fact that a vengeful Claflin forward dropped his hundred-and-seventy pounds on Clint’s neck didn’t matter a mite!

It was nip and tuck for the rest of that first period.  Claflin regularly made from four to eight yards on three plays and then punted.  Brimfield made similar gains and punted.  Kendall missed a catch and recovered the ball for a ten-yard loss.  To equalise things, Ainsmith of Claflin fumbled for almost as much.  The quarter ended with the ball in Brimfield’s possession in the middle of the field.