In the second half Hillton had secured the ball on the kick-off, and, never losing possession of it, had struggled foot by foot to within fifteen yards of the Blue’s goal.  From there a kick from placement had been tried, but Gale, Hillton’s captain and right half-back, had been thrown before his foot had touched the leather, and the St. Eustace right-guard had fallen on the ball.  A few minutes later a fumble returned the pigskin to Hillton on the Blue’s thirty-three yards, and once more the advance was taken up.  Thrice the distance had been gained by plunges into the line and short runs about the ends, and once Fletcher, Hillton’s left half, had got away safely for twenty yards.  But on her eight-yard line, under the shadow of her goal, St. Eustace had held bravely, and, securing the ball on downs, punted it far down the field into her opponent’s territory.  Fletcher had run it back ten yards ere he was downed, and from there it had gone six yards further by one superb hurdle by the full-back.  But St. Eustace had then held finely, and on the third down, as has been told, Hillton’s fake-kick play had been demolished by the Blue’s tackle, and the ball was once more in the hands of St. Eustace’s big center rush.

On the side-line, his hands in his pockets and his short brier pipe clenched firmly between his teeth, Gardiner, Hillton’s head coach, watched grimly the tide of battle.  Things had gone worse than he had anticipated.  He had not hoped for too much—­a tie would have satisfied him; a victory for Hillton had been beyond his expectations.  St. Eustace far outweighed his team; her center was almost invulnerable and her back field was fast and heavy.  But, despite the modesty of his expectations, Gardiner was disappointed.  The plays that he had believed would prove to be ground-gainers had failed almost invariably.  Neil Fletcher, the left half, on whom the head coach had placed the greatest reliance, had, with a single exception, failed to circle the ends for any distance.  To be sure, the St. Eustace end rushes had proved more knowing than he had given them credit for being, and so the fault was, after all, not with Fletcher; but it was disappointing nevertheless.

And, as is invariably the case, he saw where he had made mistakes in the handling of his team; realized, now that it was too late, that he had given too much attention to that thing, too little to this; that, as things had turned out, certain plays discarded a week before would have proved of more value than those substituted.  He sighed, and moved down the line to keep abreast of the teams, now five yards nearer the Hillton goal.

“Crozier must come out in a moment,” said a voice beside him.  He turned to find Professor Beck, the trainer and physical director.  “What a game he has put up, eh?”

Gardiner nodded.

“Best quarter in years,” he answered.  “It’ll weaken us considerably, but I suppose it’s necessary.”  There was a note of interrogation in the last, and the professor heard it.