Holmes barked his signals. Kendall dashed at the guard-tackle hole on the left, Brinspool followed him, Greene darted across, took the ball at a hand-pass and, followed by Holmes, squirmed between guard and tackle on the other side for two yards. Seven yards to go! “Kick formation! Burtis back! Now hold them, fellows!” “_Block this kick!_” shouted the Nordham captain. Holmes shouted his signals. “Fake!” yelled the Red’s captain. “Watch it! Watch it!” And a fake it was, the pigskin going to Plant, who had dropped back of the line. The tackle swung to the left and darted at the opposite tackle. But Nordham was there, and he went down as though he had run against a wall. “Get up! Get up!” “That’s the way to hold ’em! We’ve got ’em now! They don’t dare to kick!” “Third down! Six to go!” “Line up, fellows! You’ve got to put it over! Get down there, Best! Kick formation! Burtis――――” But Holmes paused, for Kendall was whispering to him. “A field goal will only tie it, Holmes,” said Kendall eagerly. “They’re looking for a kick. Let me try a run around the left end. Their ends are away in. I can do it! Fake a kick, Holmes, and let me try it!” For an instant Holmes hesitated. Then, with a flash in his eyes, “All right! But I’ll get the dickens if we lose the ball, Burtis. You’ve got to make it go, remember!” “I will,” answered Kendall grimly. “Kick formation! Burtis back! Do your best, fellows! Remember last year!” Then came the signals and Kendall saw the sudden look of surprise in Greene’s face as he shifted a few inches nearer the play. Cousins edged out a step, the opposing end eyeing him doubtfully. Then Best shot the ball back and Kendall, standing near the twenty-yard line, caught it. Snuggling it close in his injured elbow, he darted to the left. Then the field was in movement, the two teams racing between him and the goal. Luckily the Yardley line had held firmly, and in the second between his catching of the ball and the discovery of the play by the opponents Kendall had gained three good strides. The interference formed a moving wall between him and the pursuit as he pounded across the slippery turf. The only thing he feared was to miss his footing.