"If they only keep that up, it will be a massacre," rejoiced Bill Sherwood. "They'll simply snow them under." But joy was of short duration. Out once more in the middle of the field, Wynn passed the ball to Knapp, who started off to skirt right end, but slipped as he dodged to evade a tackler and fell heavily, the ball shooting out from his arm with the impact. The irrepressible Beebe, who had so often that day blighted the hopes of Lenox, was on the ball like a hawk and scooted down the field for a magnificent run of forty-two yards for Wimbledon's third touchdown. Johnston kicked the goal and the score was 20 to 10 in favor of the visitors. "They have all the breaks," groaned Rooster, though his voice could scarcely be heard in the terrific din that rose from the Wimbledon section of the stands. "That fellow Beebe must have a rabbit's foot in his pocket," gloomed Nick. "He's got brains in his head, you mean," amended Garry, "to say nothing of speed in his feet. That fellow can ran rings around a streak of lightning." For the rest of that period the fighting was furious on both sides, but neither made an additional score. When their brief breathing spell ended, Lenox came out determined to do or die. That they were more likely to die than do was indicated by the score. But they were a fighting bunch and at least would sell their lives dearly. Wimbledon, fairly content with what she had gained and confident that her lead could not be overcome in the short time remaining for play, resorted to a defensive game that was more cagey than sportsmanlike. All that she had to do was to prevent any further scoring by Lenox and the game was hers. But Lenox, on the other hand, threw caution to the winds and battered furiously at the enemy's line. Again and again she threw herself against that line and would not be denied. The first time the Lenox boys got possession of the ball they made their distance on downs with two yards to spare. Again they lined up for the scrimmage and the ball was passed to Dittler for a plunge between left end and tackle. He went through like a bull for four yards before he went down with almost all the Wimbledon team on top of him. When the pile was disentangled, Dittler did not rise, and after he had been helped to his feet it was found that his right ankle had been so severely strained that he could hardly bear his weight on it. Consternation reigned in the Lenox ranks, for Dittler was one of the pillars of the team. "There goes the game!" mourned Nick. "They had little enough chance before," groaned Ted. "They haven't any at all now." "Just when the boys were going like a house afire!" grumbled Rooster. Time was called while Dittler was assisted from the field amid the sympathetic applause of the rooters, not excluding those from Wimbledon who knew a good sportsman when they saw one. "I wonder whom they'll put in his place," murmured Tom Allison.