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Everyone felt, as the young gladiators faced each other, that the game would be "for blood." Nor were they disappointed. From the moment the referee's whistle blew, the playing was of the most desperate kind. The "Greys" had won the choice of goal and the Blues had the kick-off. Bert poised himself carefully and shot the ball down the field far and high.
The ball was still in the Army's possession when the referee's whistle announced the end of the first quarter, and the field was swept by the cheers of the cadets at the gallant way in which their favorites had made a stand against the most famous team in the country. In the short rest between quarters, there was a hurried council of the Blues. "Buck up, fellows, for heaven's sake," urged Bert.
"'You got to, Bill, or you're a dog, Bill says, lookin' love at me in his eyes as the referee's grip untangles us clear. "An' them wolves of fans yellin': 'Fake! Fake! Fake! like that, an' keepin' it up. "Well, I done it. They's only that way out. I done it. By God, I done it. I had to.
There was a round of loud applause from the fans of both teams. The players presented a fine appearance. The earnest, "do or die" expression on every face made the spectators feel that the coming game would be well worth seeing. The rival captains faced each other, ready to jump for the ball the instant it left the referee's hands.
When I couldn't see, or feel, an' when my knees was shakin an my head goin' like a merry-go-round, I'd fall safe into clenches just the same. I bet the referee's arms is tired from draggin' us apart.... "But what a lacin'! What a lacin'! Say, Saxon... where are you? Oh, there, eh? I guess I was dreamin'. But, say, let this be a lesson to you. I broke my word an' went fightin', an' see what I got.
Astern hovered the referee's boat, the official standing in the bow directing operations. Still astern was a larger craft filled with favoured representatives of the two colleges, the rival coaches, the crew-managers and the like. "Are you all ready, Baliol?" "Yes, sir." Deacon, leaning forward, felt his arms grow tense. "Are you all ready, Shelburne?"
"Everything goes with them," he said. The referee's hand went down, Devoe stepped forward, the blue-clad line leaped into the field, and the ball sped upward. As it fell Neil turned to Stone and the two stared at each other in doubt. From both stands arose a confused roar. Then their eyes sought the score-board at the west end of the field and they groaned in unison.
As the word left the referee's lips each tried two or three passes which the other blocked. Midshipman Pennington was trying to take his opponent's "measure." Then Dave ducked, darted, dodged and wheeled about. Pennington had to follow him, and it made the latter angry. "Stand up and fight, can't you," hissed Pen. "Silence during the rounds, Mr. Pennington," admonished the referee quietly.
He knew that the fever would leave him, once the salmon began to run, just as it had always vanished at the crack of the starter's pistol or the shrill note of the referee's whistle. He was eager for action, eager to find himself possessed of that gloating, gruelling fury that drives men through to the finish line. Meanwhile, he was anxious to divert his mind into other channels.
Ralph, however, kept on at his customary pace, still whistling one of the songs he had so lately sung with Frank and Helen Allen. Just as he was half-way past the shadowy spot, he heard a sudden shrill sound, not unlike a referee's whistle on the football gridiron.
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