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We got a bad start, and sore arms and busted fingers, all kinds of injuries, every accident calculated to hurt a team's chances, came our way. But in spite of it all we got the lead and we've held it, and today we're still a few points ahead of Buffalo." I paused to catch my breath, and looked round on the grim, tired faces of my players. They made a stern group.
Tom Reade had less of strategy than Dan but relied more upon great bursts of speed and in the sheer ability to run away from impending tackle. Now the boys were training for the team's eighth game, the one to be played against the Hepburn Falls High School, a strong organization.
Then, he only spends about half his share of the Team's profits, and turns the rest back into the Team Fund. He has a credit of about a hundred thousand dollars, which he'd lose by leaving us. And then, there's another thing. Kato's father was killed on Guadalcanal, in 1942, when he was only five. After that he was brought up in the teachings of Bushido by his grandfather, an old-time samurai.
Flinging her arms about her roommate's neck, Hester embraced her warmly all the while declaring that she would never be able to repay her. "Yes, you surely can," said Helen. "Play a good game and justify my recommending you. That will please me best of all." "I shall do that for your sake, for my own, and for the team's."
The whole town was ablaze with excitement over its team's great showing against the State, and the talk at table was all of the way Cartwright's eleven could now go romping down the schedule and take every other college into camp, including, of course, Barton Poly, their dearest foe.
Fyles and McBain leaped from their saddles and examined the sandy surface of it. Two of the troopers joined them. At length the officer spoke, and his voice had lost something of its sharp tone of authority. "They've beaten us, McBain," he cried. "God's curse on them, they've played us at our own game, and beaten us. A wagon and team's passed here less than five minutes ago.
"See you later," cried Pepper to Andy. "Be careful!" "Don't worry; we'll get there before you do," answered Andy. Two blankets were arranged as saddles on the runaway team's backs and a few minutes later Andy and Peleg Snuggers started after the carriage. "Let us catch up to them," cried the acrobatic youth, and urged his steed forward on a gallop.
The two teams then returned to their respective sides, and again the referee yelled loudly, signaling them to rush at each other once more, and more of the same ensued, this time it being the other team's orange shirted player to get pounced on. Once again there was a high pile on top of him, and once again, as they crawled off and he was exposed, the referee began to count.
Downing always turns out on Mid-Term Service Day. I say, do play." "Think of the rag." "But the team's full," said Mike. "The list isn't up yet. We'll nip across to Barnes's study, and make him alter it." They dashed out of the room. From down the passage Mike heard yells of "Barnes!" the closing of a door, and a murmur of excited conversation. Then footsteps returning down the passage.
Is 'thirty-eight, nine, eleven, four' your team's signal for a play around the left end, after quarter has passed the ball to tackle and he to the end?" Dick started, despite himself, for that was truly the signal for that play. "Really Mr. Jarvis, you don't expect me to tell you our signals!" laughed Dick, pretending to be unconcerned. But Jarvis called off another signal and interpreted it.
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