Once more the line-up. Andy's ears were ringing. He could scarcely hear the signals for the cheering from the stands. He was called upon to smash through the line, and did manage to make a small gain. But it was not enough. It was the second down. The other back was called on, and went through after good interference, making the necessary gain. "We've got 'em on the run!" exulted Yale. The blue team was within striking distance of the Harvard goal. The signal came for a kick in an attempt to send the ball over the crossbar. How it happened no one could say. It was one of the fumbles that so often occur in a football game--fumbles that spell victory for one team and defeat for another. 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!" "Yale's ball!" "Go on, you beggar! Run! Run!" "Touchdown! Touchdown!" There was a wild riot of yells. With his ears ringing as with the jangle of a thousand bells, with his lungs nearly bursting, and his eyes scarcely seeing, Andy ran on. He had ten yards to go--thirty feet--and between him and the goal was the Harvard full-back--a big youth. Andy heard stamping feet behind him. They were those of friends and foes, but no friends could help him now. Straight at the Harvard back he ran--panting, desperate. The Crimson player crouched, waiting for him. Andy dodged. He was midway between the side lines. He circled. The Harvard back turned and raced after him, intent on driving him out of bounds. That was what Andy did not want, but he did want to wind his opponent. Again Andy circled and dodged. The other followed his every move. Then Andy came straight at him again, with outstretched hand to ward him off. There was a clash of bodies, and Andy felt himself encircled in a fatal embrace. He hurled himself forward, for he could see the goal line beneath his feet. Over he went, bearing the Harvard player backward, and, when they fell with a crash, Andy reached out, his arms over his head, and planted the ball beyond the goal line. He had made the winning touchdown! CHAPTER XXII ANDY SAYS "NO!" Men were thumping each other on the back. Some had smashed their hats over other persons' heads. Others had broken their canes from much exuberant pounding on the floors of the stands.