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Updated: May 31, 2025
The Yale full-back reached out his hands for the pigskin, caught it and dropped it. There was a rush of men toward him, and some one's foot kicked the ball. It rolled toward Andy. In a flash he had it tucked under his arm, and started in a wild dash for the Harvard goal line. "Get him! Get that man!" "Smear him!" "Interference! Interference! Get after him!" "It's Blair! Andy Blair!"
"If I do," murmured Clint. "Well, I think you will unless you get Robey down on you by too many cuts." "Really?" Clint asked eagerly. "Sure. You see most fellows want to be backs or ends; about eight out of ten want to be half-backs and the ninth wants to be either full-back or end. The tenth fellow is willing to play in the line." "Oh," said Clint. "And how about quarters?"
I started to play footer that afternoon without troubling to think how I should play. I could see myself marching slowly along the Woodstock road with the Warden, and however badly I played did not seem to matter much, for there was something far more awful to come. The XV. began to press at once, and I, as full-back, had plenty to do.
Only the Yates full-back threatened, the ball was safely clutched in his right arm, his breath came easily, his legs were strong, and the goal-posts loomed far down the field and beckoned him on. This, he thought exultingly, was the best moment that life could give him. Behind, although he could not hear it for the din of shouting from the Harwell stand, he knew the pursuit to be in full cry.
Then he dived in behind the interference for a circuit of the right end. Two Princeton men broke through as if they had been shot out of mortars, but the Yale full-back had turned and was ploughing straight ahead. Pulled down, dragging the tackler who clung to his waist, he floundered to earth with most of the Princeton team piled above him.
There was quite a dash of color in his usually pale cheeks, and his blue eyes flashed with interest as he watched the men at practise. Near at hand a panting group of fellows were going through the signals, the quarter crying his numbers with gasps for breath, then passing the ball to half-or full-back and quickly throwing himself into the interference.
But Yates was on the defensive, even when the oval was in her possession, and Harwell experienced the pleasurable and, in truth, unaccustomed exultation that comes with the assurance of superiority. Harwell's greatest ground-gaining plays now were the two sequences from ordinary formation and full-back forward.
Topham at full-back on the pie-bald was a stone wall, swift, hard-hitting and resourceful, but in vain. Swooping down the wings, and passing with the dextrous wrist-work and amazing body-bends that they alone seem able to accomplish, they put the English team on the defensive and kept them there.
"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.
'Why let her? Running Elk plays full-back! How stop her? We'll pick you up at your hotel in the morning and drive you up in the car. It's the big game of the year. You'll probably enjoy it. I won't! "Miss Harman seemed glad to see me on the following day. She must have known that I was in her father's confidence, but she was too well schooled to show it.
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