Rollins was stopped squarely on a try at right guard and Otis made a scant three past the left tackle. Under the shadow of her goal-posts, Claflin was digging her cleats in the turf and fighting hard. Rollins went back. "Get through, Claflin! Block this kick!" cried the Blue's quarter-back. "_Get through! Get through!_" Back went the ball from Thursby, a trifle high but straight enough, Rollins poised it, swung his leg, and then, tucking the pigskin under his arm, sprang away to the left. Shouts of alarm, cries of warning, the hurried rush of feet and rasping of canvas! Bodies crashed together and went down. Rollins, at the ten yards now, side-stepped and got past a blue-legged defender, turned in and went banging straight into the melee. Arms clutched at him. He was stopped momentarily. Then he wrested free, plunged on for another yard and went to earth. "Second down!" cried the referee when he had bored through the pile of squirming bodies and found the ball. He glanced along the five-yard line, set the pigskin to earth again, and "About two feet to go!" he added. Brimfield was shouting incessantly now, standing and waving. "_Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!_" Across the field Claflin sent back a dogged chant: "_Hold 'em, Claflin! Hold 'em, Claflin! Hold 'em, Claflin!_" But surely Claflin couldn't do that! It seemed too much to ask or expect. Otis made it first down off left tackle, placing the ball on the three yards. Before the next play could be started the period ended and the teams flocked to the water pails and then tramped down to the other end of the field. The cheering never paused, even if the playing did. Childers, red-faced and perspiring, kept the Brimfield section busy every instant. "Once more, now! A long cheer with nine 'Brimfields'! That's good! Keep it up! We're going to score, fellows! Let's have it again! All into it!" Only three yards to go and four downs to do it! Claflin lined up desperately, her forwards digging their toes barely inside their last line, her backfield men skirmishing anxiously about behind it. "Push 'em back, Claflin! You can do it! Don't give 'em an inch! Stop 'em right here, fellows! Low, low, get _low_, you fellows! Charge into 'em and smother this play!" The Claflin quarter, pale of face, thumped crouching backs and watched the foe intently. "Put it over now!" shrilled Carmine. "Here we go! Get down there, Hall! Signals!" Rollins leaped forward, took the ball from Carmine and smashed straight ahead. There was a moment of doubt. His plunging body stopped, went on, stopped, was borne back. "Second down! Two and a half to go!" Again the signals, the line shifted, Claflin changed to meet the shift. St. Clair slewed across and slammed past the Claflin left tackle. But the secondary defence had him in the next instant and he was thrust, fighting, back and still back. But he had gained. "A yard and a half!" proclaimed the referee.