Yardley had made one change in her line-up. Jensen had replaced Stark at right tackle. Broadwood held Yardley for two downs; took a penalty for off-side play and wrested the ball away almost in midfield. Then she began her real attack. Reid and Rhodes, the heavy artillery, crashed into and through the Blue line for short gains, and Raynor, lighter and first cousin to a streak of lightning, broke around tackle and past the wings for yards at a time. Broadwood’s adherents shouted themselves hoarse with joy. Down past the thirty yards went the enemy, Yardley fighting stubbornly and contesting every foot of ground but yielding nevertheless. It was a terrific onslaught and Those Who Knew on the Yardley side looked grave. But down on the twenty-five the defense grew firmer, the gains shorter. The secondary defense, playing close up, stopped what leaked past the outer breastworks. A yard now; then two; then―― “Third down; seven to go!” cried the umpire. Yardley stood up to a man on the boards and shouted imploringly: “_Hold_ ’em! _Hold_ ’em! _Hold_ ’em!” And from across the trampled field came the frenzied cries of the enemy; “_Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!_” Broadwood meant to try a forward pass, but the ball went back badly, trickled away from the quarter and was pounced on by Fogg. How Yardley yelled when they saw the Green’s quarter trot up the field with hanging head! Norton dropped back as if to kick, but Dan, running behind the line, took the ball at a toss from Simms and cut through between tackle and end. He was clean away before the play was solved, and then it was up to Saunders, the Green’s quarter to prevent a score. But near the forty-yard line Dan swung sharply past him as he dived, shook off a detaining hand and streaked straight down the field and under the crossbar for a touchdown, a half-dozen Broadwood pursuers trailing behind! What a pandemonium broke loose then on the Yardley stand! Caps flew into the air, the big drum boomed, flags darted and snapped! Beyond the rope two cheer leaders, clasped closely together, danced and cavorted, and the Second Team fellows were jumping around like maniacs. Near at hand, Mr. Payson strolling along the line, pulled his pipe from his pocket, filled it with steady fingers and took his first smoke that day. Even the fact that Hammel missed the goal failed to leaven the joy.