And then, as in the first period of play, she began to advance the pigskin by fierce plunges at the Erskine line. But now there was a perceptible difference in results, a difference recognized by the spectators after the first two attacks. Robinson wasn’t making much headway. Twice she barely made her distance; the third time she failed by six inches and, amidst cheering plainly heard on the campus, Erskine took the ball on her opponent’s twenty-five yards. The first plunge netted a bare yard, yet it carried the ball out of the checker-board, and a line-man dropped back. Tommy set up a shout. “It’s Burley! They’re going to play him back of the line!” There was no doubt about it’s being Burley. He loomed far above the rest of the backs, and even when, his hands on the full-back’s hips, he doubled himself up for the charge, he was still the biggest object on the field. The stands danced with delight. So far there had been no hint of the big right guard taking part in the tandem attacks; in fact, his presence on the team was doubtful until the last moment, for Burley’s development as a football player had been discouragingly slow, in spite of his weight and strength and cheerful willingness. Even yet he possessed only a partial understanding of the game. He did what he was told to do, and did it as hard as he knew how; that constituted the extent of his science. The stands composed themselves, and breathless suspense reigned. Poor’s shrill pipe was heard reeling off the signals, and then-- Then the advance began. Robinson had played hard every moment of the first thirty-five minutes, and she had played on the offensive. Erskine had played hard too, but her playing had been defensive. To attack is more tiring than to repel attack, and now what difference there was in condition was in Erskine’s favor. Her defensive tactics were suddenly abandoned, and from that moment to the final whistle she forced the fighting every instant of the time. Peter Burley was, to use Tommy’s broken, breathless words, “simply great.” He knew little or nothing about line-plunging. He didn’t do any of the things coaches instruct backs to do. He merely waded into and through the opponents, without bothering his head with the niceties of play. If the hole was there, well and good; he went through it and emerged on the other side with half the Robinson team clinging to him. If the hole wasn’t there, well and good again; he went through just the same, only he didn’t go so far. But there was always a good gain--sometimes a yard, sometimes two, sometimes three or four.