"We've got to do more line plunging," thought Andy, and he was right, for Yale began that sort of a game when the whistle blew again. The wisdom of it was apparent, for at once the ball began to go down toward Harvard's goal, once Yale got possession of the pigskin after an exchange of kicks. "That's the way! That's the way!" yelled Andy. "Touchdown! Touchdown!" This was being yelled all over the Yale stands. But it was not to be. After some magnificent playing, and bucking that tore the Harvard line apart again and again, time for the half was called, Yale having the ball on Harvard's eight-yard line. Another play might have taken it over. But both teams had been forced to call on more substitutes, and Harvard lost her best punter. Yale suffered, too, in the withdrawal of Michaels, a star end. The third quarter had not been long under way when, following a scrimmage, a knot of Yale players gathered about a prostrate figure. "Who is it? Who is it?" was asked on all sides. "Brooks--right half!" was the despondent answer. "This cooks our goose!" "Blair--Blair!" cried the coach. "Get in there! Rip 'em up!" A mist swam before Andy's eyes. Some one fairly pulled him from the bench, and his sweater was ripped off him, one sleeve tearing out. But what did it matter--he had a chance to play! "We've got to buck their line!" the freshman captain whispered in his ear. "They're weak there, and we dare not kick too much. Our ends can't get down fast enough. I'm going to send you through for all you're worth." "All right!" gasped Andy. His mouth was dry--his throat parched. "Steady there! Steady!" warned the coach. "Ready, Yale?" asked the referee. "Yes!" Again the whistle blew. Yale had the ball, and on the first play Andy was sent bucking the line with it. He hit it hard, and felt himself being pushed and pulled through. Some one seemed in his way, and then a body gave suddenly and limply, and he lurched forward. "First down!" he heard some one yell. He had gained the required distance. Yale would not have to kick. Panting, trembling, with a wild, eager rage to again get into the fight, Andy waited for the signal. A forward pass was to be tried. He was glad he was not to buck the line again. The pass was not completed, and the ball was brought back. Again came a play--a double pass that netted a little. Yale was slowly gaining. But now Harvard took a brace and held for downs so that Yale had to kick. Then the Crimson took her turn at rushing the ball down the field by a series of desperate plunges. Yale's goal was in danger when the saving whistle for the third quarter shrilled out. "Fellows, we've got to get 'em now or never!" cried the Yale captain, fiercely. "Break your necks--but get a touchdown!"