The Pornellites were now wild, but they stared blankly as they saw plucky Tom Rover snatch the leather up and run back twenty yards with it.

“He’s going right through with it!”

“There goes Hardy after him!”

“Down they go!”

“Lushear has the ball!  It’s going back!”

“Run, Lushear, run!  A dollar if you make it!”

“They can’t catch him!  Oh, pshaw!  Down he goes!”

“But the ball is safe!  A touchdown!  Hurrah!”

The cry was correct.  Just three minutes before the end of the first half the Pornell team scored a touchdown.  Instantly preparations were made to kick a goal if possible.  But the kick was a failure, and the two sides retired for the half with the score standing 4 to 0 in Pornell Academy’s favor.

Glumly the Hall boys retired to their dressing room, there to be rubbed down by their chums.  “It’s too bad, it certainly is,” came from a dozen sympathizers.

“But it can’t be helped.  Don’t give up yet.”

“They are too heavy for us in mass play,” said Sam.  “We must try more running away with the leather.”  And so it was agreed.

Soon the gong rang, and they re-entered the field.

“Now, Putnam Hall, do your best!  We are looking at you!”

“They can’t play a little bit,” sneered Dan Baxter.  “I’m ashamed of them,” and he smiled to himself, thinking the fifty dollars put up on the game was already as good as won.

Sam had given his team some explicit instructions, and these were now being followed.  As soon as the ball came into Putnam’s possession there was a run on their part that carried the sphere twenty yards into their opponents territory.

“Go in and win, Putnam!”

“That’s the way to do it!”

“Take it from them, Pornell!  Go for it!  Take it!”

And Pornell did take it, and half the distance gained was lost.

Both teams were now warmed up, and for fully five minutes the ball flew back and forth, remaining at the end of that time almost in the center of the gridiron.

Then Pornell tried some heavy mass play, but lost the leather on a fumble, and it came into Tom Rover’s possession.

Away flew Tom, as though a legion of demons were after him, straight for Pornell’s goal.  The crowd began to shout itself hoarse.

“See Tom Rover!  Go it, Tom, old boy, go it!”

“He can’t carry it through!  See, Conkey and Largren are after him!”

“There he goes down!  Conkey has the leather!”

This was true, but ere Conkey could start to run Fred Garrison brought him to earth and the ball rolled out into the field.

Sam and a Pornell halfback made a rush for it.

“My ball!” yelled the Pornellite, who was twenty pounds heavier than the little captain.

“Not today!” retorted Sam, and snatched it from under his very feet.  Before the Pornellite could recover from his astonishment, Sam was pelting up the field with all the nimbleness of his agile legs.