Robinson lined up quickly.  Left tackle dropped from the line, and taking a position between full-back and right half, formed the center of the tandem that faced the tackle-guard hole on the right.  Left half stood well back, behind quarter, ready to oppose any Erskine players who managed to get around the left of their line.  The full-back who headed the tandem was a notable line-bucker, although his weight was but 172 pounds.  The left tackle, Balcom, tipped the scales at 187, while the third member of the trio was twenty pounds lighter.  Together they represented 525 pounds.

Opposed to them were Gillam and Mason, whose combined weight was 312 pounds.  Gillam stood between left-guard and tackle, with Mason, his hands on the other’s shoulders, close behind.

The Robinson quarter stared for an instant with interest at the opposing formation, and the full-back, crouched forward ready to plunge across the little space that divided him from the opponents’ territory, looked uneasy.  Then the quarter stooped behind the big center.

“Signal!” he called. “12—­21—­212!”

The ball came back to him.  At the same instant the tandem moved forward, the Erskine guard and tackle engaged the opposing guard and tackle, and Gillam and Mason shot through the hole, the former with head down and a padded shoulder presented to the enemy, and the latter steadying him and hurling him forward.  Then two things happened at the same moment; the ball passed from quarter to tackle, and Gillam and the leader of the tandem came together.

The shock of that collision was plainly heard on the side-lines.  For an instant the tandem stopped short.  Then superior weight told, and it moved forward again, reenforced by quarter and right end; but simultaneously the Erskine quarter and left half made themselves felt back of Mason and Gillam, and then chaos reigned.  The entire forces of each side were in the play, and for nearly half a minute the swaying mass moved inch by inch, first forward, then backward, the Robinson left tackle refusing to believe that their famous play was for once a failure and so clinging desperately to the ball, the center of a veritable maelstrom of panting, struggling players.  Then the whistle sounded and the dust of battle cleared away.  Robinson had gained half a yard.

The north stand cheered delightedly.  It had only seen the Robinson tandem stopped in its tracks, and did not know that in the struggle just passed Erskine had used a new and novel defense for the first time on any football field, had vindicated her coaches’ faith in it, and brought surprise and dismay to the brown-clad warriors and their adherents.  If it had known as much as Mills and Jones and Sydney about the “antidote” it would have shouted itself hoarse.

Gillam trotted back to his place.  His extra-padded head-harness and heavy shoulder-pads had brought him forth unscathed.  On the side-line the Erskine coaches talked softly to each other, trying hard to look unconcerned, but nevertheless showing their pleasure.  Sydney Burr, rather pale, was among them, and was, perhaps, the happiest of all.  The bench whereon the substitutes sat was one long grin from end to end.  But Robinson was far from being beaten, and the game went on.