Rudolph nudged Judd after a play in which Blackwell's fatigue was most evident. "You'll get your chance pretty soon ... he's about all in!" The blood went racing to Judd's head. The entire game had been thus far like a disconnected dream to him. It had been difficult to actually associate himself with it. "My ... my chance!" he faltered. Rudolph nodded ... then clutched Judd's sleeve. "See ... Blackwell's looking this way ... we've got to kick ... and ... he can't!" The field seemed to blur out of Judd's vision. There was a sickening buzzing in his head ... he looked at Rudolph with undisguised horror on his face. "Me ... me ... go in ... there?" Rudolph gave him a look of scorn and threw aside his blankets. Coach Little came up, slapping Judd on the back. "You're taking Blackwell's place, Billings ..." "Let me go in!" pleaded Rudolph, "Judd's scared stiff!" The coach glanced sharply at the shivering substitute. The referee's whistle was screeching demandingly. Blackwell was being helped off the field. "No, Rudie ... you're done for the day. It's up to Billings." The coach turned to Judd. "Billings, I'm not putting you in because I want to ... it's because I have to, understand? And if you show yellow ... everyone in Trumbull and everyone in the state for that matter ... is going to know it." Judd ripped off his sweater. He passed Blackwell as he went out to report to the referee. Blackwell called to him. "I'm counting on you, Judd ... do it for me, old boy!" The great Bob's younger brother had a mixture of feelings ... the words of the coach had aroused him more than he had ever thought he could be aroused ... and Blackwell's plea had brought to him a flash of what it really meant to forget self. If Blackwell could play as he had played with a sprained ankle when every step meant a stab of pain ... if Rudolph had given his best and was even now, though injured, willing to get back into the battle ... why couldn't he carry on the good fight? WHY COULDN'T HE? The question suddenly became an obsession with him. And the answer began to rise up within him ... "I can ... I CAN!" The ball was on Trumbull's thirty-five yard line and last down. Barley met Billings on his way out to the team. Judd had an odd thought that Barley reminded him of a man who had stuck his head out of a sewer hole and looked at him one day. Why should he think of such a curious thing as that ... at a time like this? But Barley was shouting something at him ... the stands were on their feet ... shouting ... shouting ... what were they shouting? ... why! ... it was HIS name! "Come on, Billings! Get us out of this hole," pleaded Barley.