But not to Galvin, back in kicker’s place. It went to Ted, and Ted swung around with it and, after a tick of time, tossed it toward a speeding form. The whole Alton backfield was moving to the left now, and not only the backfield but Captain Jonas and Hop Meecham and, last of all, Fitz Savell, following around as rear guard. Tyron headed the interference, Bert carried, Galvin ran beside the latter. It was Jim who met the enemy right end and heaved him aside. Bert found himself slowed by Tyron and swung outside as the defensive end went down. Then he wheeled sharply and cut in. A back lunged toward him out of the mêlée, but Savell charged between, and Bert, his head up and eyes busy, saw the open road ahead. CHAPTER XIV DEVORE COMES TO COLLECT When he thought about it afterwards, and he did think about it a good deal during the next day or two, it seemed to Bert that it had been absurdly simple, that dash from the enemy’s twenty-four to the goal line and over. To be sure, just at the last the Mt. Millard quarter had forced him well toward the boundary, but he had never been seriously challenged after he had cut through and he had crossed the last streak of lime with his head up and a watchful eye on the approaching safety man; crossed it, indeed, with an unconscious unconcern that had added to the joy of the already ecstatic Alton watchers. It had been very easy, and, while he was human enough to like the applause he had won, and the enthusiastic pummelings of his team-mates, and all the nice things that had been said to him since, he was convinced that any of his fellow players would have turned the trick just as neatly as he had and that, when all was considered, he had mighty little title to the rôle of hero. Of course he had done his best, had used his head and his speed, but there was no getting around the fact that it was perfect interference that had won that touchdown and the Mt. Millard game. If Jim Galvin had missed the end, if Fitz Savell hadn’t taken out that back, if, in short, the whole team of eleven players hadn’t each performed his part perfectly, the play would have fizzled. Where then, reflected Bert, was the glory? Surely the credit should be equally apportioned amongst the team and not given all to him. He was dimly regretful that this was so and wished that he might have somehow really earned the honor that had been accorded him; wished that he might have got away without the help of an army of interferers and made the run on his own. He could have been proud of that. As it was he felt apologetic toward the other fellows of the team and wondered if they were not secretly amused, perhaps nettled, at the praise he was receiving. They didn’t appear to be, though. In fact, they had behaved quite as if that touchdown had been a one-man job, a personal triumph for Bert. He couldn’t understand that at first.