Randall tried to, but Boxer had found a weak place between Snail Looper and Grasshopper Backus, and kept hammering away at it, until they had advanced the ball to the fifteen-yard line. Then Boxer Hall played a neat trick. There was every indication that a try for a field goal was about to be made, and Holly Cross got back. Instead, there was a double pass, and a play between tackle and right-end. Through the Randall line burst Frothon, the right-tackle, with the ball tucked under his arm. Holly Cross saw him just in time, and made a dive for him. But the Randall full-back's foot slipped, and he went down, making a vain grab for Frothon, who sped on, and planted the ball behind the goal posts. Boxer Hall had made the first touch-down, and the crowd of supporters went wild, while there was corresponding gloom on the grandstands where Randallites were gathered. The goal was missed, and a scrimmage had hardly begun after the next kick-off before the whistle blew. The half was up. What a buzz of excitement there was in the grandstands! Every one seemed talking at once. "That was hard lines," remarked Ford Fenton to Sid, next to whom he was sitting. "If our fellows had only been a little quicker then, this would never have happened. My uncle says----" "Fenton!" exclaimed Sid so fiercely that Ford almost turned pale, "if you mention 'uncle' again during this game, I'll throw you off the grandstand," and, as Fenton was rather high up, he concluded to keep quiet. CHAPTER XXXV VICTORY--CONCLUSION There was despondency in the quarters of the Randall players, where they gathered between the halves. Gloom sat upon the brow of every one, and the cheery words of the coach could not seem to dispel it. "There's only one touch-down against you," he said. "You always play better uphill than down. Go at 'em now, and tear them apart! They play a fierce game, but you can play a fiercer! Are any of you hurt? How about you, Looper?" "Oh, I'm all right now. It was only my wind. I've got it back. They won't get through me again," declared the Snail. "I hope not. You're too fat; that's what's the trouble. How are you holding out, Clinton?" and the coach turned anxiously to the quarter-back. Phil was pacing up and down the dressing-room. There was a strained look on his face, and his hand was inside his blouse, where his fingers touched a crumpled paper. He did not seem to have heard Mr. Lighton's question. The coach repeated it. "Me? Why, I--I guess I can last the game out," said Phil slowly. "Last the game out? Why, are you hurt?" The coach was a bit disturbed. "No. Of course not. It was just my way of speaking. It's all right--it's all right," and Phil resumed his pacing of the narrow quarters. "Guess he feels that we're going to lose," whispered Dutch Housenlager to Tom. But Tom shook his head. There was something else the matter with Phil, and he wondered what it was. "Do you think they're on to our signals?" asked Holly Cross.