Back to the kicking game again now. Long punts, thrilling catches and wonderful runs nipped in the bud by desperate tackles. Now and then an attempted forward pass by Grafton, but never successful. Mount Morris playing as if she’d be satisfied with an 0 to 0 tie, taking no chances with the ball in her possession, playing it safe always. Grafton growing more desperate every minute as the time shortens. Sending Vail and Keyes banging into the left of the Green-and-White line for short gains, whisking Blake and Winslow past tackle or outside end for slightly longer ones, until again the ball is near the twenty-five yards. Now the gains are shorter. Mount Morris plays doggedly, hurling back attack. Three downs and only five yards gained. Back to the thirty-two stalks Keyes. A hush settles over the field and stand. The quarter’s signals are heard plainly. A brown streak into Keyes’ hands, a swinging foot, a moment of suspense, and a groan of disappointment. Again he has failed! Across the field Mount Morris is cheering slowly over and over and over. Only six minutes now. Here and there people are already leaving their seats, to the discomfort of others. Mount Morris’s ball on her forty-six yards. Rush――rush――rush――punt! That’s her game now. Hold them off! No score for either side! Back comes Grafton. Four yards――that was Winslow through tackle-guard on the left. Three yards more――that was Vail outside tackle. Third down and only three needed. Nick makes it on a delayed run, gets it by an inch only, but gets it! First down again on Grafton’s twenty. Hello, what’s this? A punt on first down? Not likely! A forward pass then. Yes! And made it, too! Near the forty now and still going. But she’ll never get to the goal that way. There isn’t time enough. Three minutes left? Is that all? Why don’t they try another forward pass or run the ends? It’s the only way. Plugging the line will never――There he goes! He’s off! It’s Winslow! No, it’s Vail! Ten yards――fifteen――! Oh, bully tackle, Mount Morris! First down again, though, and on their thirty or thereabouts. Here’s where we score! Bust ’em up, Grafton! Time out for someone. A Grafton player? No, he’s got green legs. It’s Milton, their right half. No, it isn’t, it’s that big left guard of theirs. Looks groggy, doesn’t he? Pretty near all in, if you ask me. Here comes a Grafton sub; Zanetti, isn’t it? Wonder who they’ll take out. Winslow, by thunder! That’s wrong! Winslow’s playing a dandy game. What? I don’t care if Zanetti does want his letter. Let him wait until next year. He’s only an Upper Middler, anyway. Yah! Ted Trafford’s sent him off again! Now go ahead, Winslow, and show them we don’t _need_ any subs! The Mount Morris chap’s up. He’s going off. No, he isn’t! That’s right, give him a hand. Here we go! Put it over, Grafton! Touchdown! Touchdown! _Touchdown!_