“Quarter! quarter!” yelled Laughlin, bursting through at Cates’s heels. The whole Seaton line poured after Cates. But Cates had held the ball only a moment, and shot it to Joslin, who darted for the other end of the line, where one of his backs and the end and tackle were in waiting. The Seaton end fell before the assault, and Joslin, running clear, raced down the field with Brooks, the Hillbury end, before him, and only Jackson between himself and the goal-line. What happened then happened quickly. Jackson flung himself at the critical moment straight at the man with the ball. His arms enclosed three legs, two belonging to Brooks and one to the man with the ball. He went down with the two legs tightly clasped, but the one tore away; and Joslin, free and swift as an arrow, sprinted over the white chalk-line to the Seaton goal-posts. A few minutes later, with the score six and six, Hillbury lined up for the third kick-off. Wolcott felt relieved as he saw the ball settle into Read’s grasp, for Read was safe. The ball was down on the thirty-yard line, and the heavy Seaton machine started immediately to hammer its way down the field. A delayed pass gave ten yards, a quarter-back run another ten, but the advance was mainly by steady driving of strong men in unison against a desperate, but yielding defence. Now on one side, now on the other, with Laughlin back, or Lindsay or Hendry locked in an irresistible interference with Milliken, Wendt, and Buist, the ball drew nearer the Hillbury goal. Now a swaying mass rolled its way through the struggling line as a steam shovel eats into a sandbank; now a narrow gap would open and a single man be dashed into it, as an express train into a tunnel. Mr. Lindsay watched, fearful yet fascinated. What strength! what splendid unity of action! what perfection of training! The admiration for physical strength and vigor inherent in the Anglo-Saxon race, the love of a fair fight in an open field, was asserting itself in him. He apprehended something of the absorbing joy of the game. Here was a contest of men, not in jugglery and sword play, not at arm’s length and with dainty tricks of hand and wrist, but face to face and breast to breast, with foot-pounds counting double and weakness a sin. Again the ball drew near the Hillbury goal. The half was nearly over; a score if made must come soon. On the fatal ten-yard line Jackson again fumbled, and though Buist fell on the ball, his quickness was of no avail, for it was a fourth down. With despair in their hearts the panting Seaton line saw the fruit of their labors wrested from them. Hillbury took the ball, Rounds fell back and waited with outstretched hands for the pass. “Through on him now!” cried Laughlin. “Wolcott!”