From the section of the grand stand where the crimson flags waved came steady, entreating, the wailing slogan: 

“Hold, Hillton!  Hold, Hillton!  Hold, Hillton!”

Near at hand, on the side-line, Gardiner ground his teeth on the stem of his pipe and watched with expressionless face.  Professor Beck, at his side, frowned anxiously.

“Put it over, now!” cried the St. Eustace captain.  “Tear them up, fellows!”

The quarter gave the signal, the two lines smashed together, and the whistle sounded.  The ball had advanced less than a yard.  The Hillton stand cheered hoarsely, madly.

“Line up!  Line up!” cried the Blue’s quarter.  “Signal!”

Then it was that St. Eustace made her fatal mistake.  With the memory of the delayed pass which had won St. Eustace her previous touch-down in mind, the Hillton quarter-back was on the watch.

The ball went back, was lost to view, the lines heaved and strained.  Decker shot to the left, and as he reached the end of the line the St. Eustace left half-back came plunging out of the throng, the ball snuggled against his stomach.  Decker, just how he never knew, squirmed past the single interferer, and tackled the runner firmly about the hips.  The two went down together on the seven yards, the blue-stockinged youth vainly striving to squirm nearer to the line, Decker holding for all he was worth.  Then the Hillton left end sat down suddenly on the runner’s head and the whistle blew.

The grand stand was in an uproar, and cheers for Hillton filled the air.  Gardiner turned away calmly and knocked the ashes from his pipe.  Professor Beck beamed through his gold-rimmed glasses.  Decker picked himself up and sped back to his position.

“Signal!” he cried.  But a St. Eustace player called for time and the whistle piped again.

“If Decker tries a kick from there it’ll be blocked, and they’ll score again,” said Gardiner.  “Our line can’t hold.  There’s just one thing to do, but I fear Decker won’t think of it.”  He caught Gale’s eye and signaled the captain to the side-line.

“What is it?” panted that youth, taking the nose-guard from his mouth and tenderly nursing a swollen lip.  Gardiner hesitated.  Then—­

“Nothing.  Only fight it out, Gale.  You’ve got your chance now!” Gale nodded and trotted back.  Gardiner smiled ruefully.  “The rule against coaching from the side-lines may be a good one,” he muttered, “but I guess it’s lost this game for us.”

The whistle sounded and the lines formed again.

“First down,” cried the referee, jumping nimbly out of the way.  Decker had been in conference with the full-back, and now he sprang back to his place.

“Signal!” he cried. “14—­7—­31!”

The Hillton full stood just inside the goal-line and stretched his hands out.

“16—­8!”

The center passed the pigskin straight and true to the full-back, but the latter, instead of kicking it, stood as though bewildered while the St. Eustace forwards plunged through the Hillton line as though it had been of paper.  The next moment he was thrown behind his goal-line with the ball safe in his arms, and Gardiner, on the side-line, was smiling contentedly.