Vail fails to gain on a crisscross and Dresser, running from position, takes the ball from Nick and makes two around the other end. Grafton’s trying to work over in front of goal. Once more, and Vail gets another two yards through center. Hard luck! Fourth down now and we’ll have to kick. Unless―――― No, it’s a kick. You can tell from the formation. Wait a bit, though. Blake’s edging over. It’s a forward pass! If it only works! Watch ’em now! Who’s got it? What’s wrong? Hi! There he goes! _There he goes!_ Around this end! It’s Bert Winslow! Oh, go it, you Winslow! Oh, go――They’ve got him! No! He’ll do it, he’ll do it! Ten yards more! Look out for that man! Dodge him! That’s it! Oh, bully! He’s past! He’s――_he’s over_! HE’S OVER! _Touchdown! Touchdown! Grafton! Grafton!_ WO-A-OW!... I beg pardon, sir, did I break your hat? CHAPTER XXVI HUGH IS UNMASKED! Grafton had won! That she had done so only by the slimmest of chances and in the last moments of time, that Mount Morris had held her helpless through fifty-eight minutes of that long-drawn sixty, that the Green-and-White had actually gained more ground by rushing, and had, all in all, shown more football skill, was of no moment now. Tomorrow, in a calmer frame of mind, Grafton might realize all this, but today the fact of victory was all she heeded! She captured the scarlet-legged players, who, wearied and panting, begged for mercy, and carried them shoulder-high about the field. She snake-danced and tossed hats and caps over the crossbars. She cheered and sang and cavorted and laughed and triumphed. And finally she crowded in front of the field house and, Joe Leslie waving his scarlet megaphone and leading, cheered every member of the eleven and Coach Bonner and Coach Crowley and Trainer Richards and Manager Quinn, and then cheered the Team and the School! And, at last, as twilight settled down, she dispersed across the green and back to the buildings, still laughing, still singing, still shouting. The final score was 7 to 0, for Captain Ted Trafford, with Nick holding the ball for him, had finished his football career at Grafton by sending the pigskin straight and high over the crossbar and registering the last point for the Scarlet-and-Gray. But where all had played well and some more than well, it was Left Half Winslow who had emerged the hero of the game and of the season. It was Bert who had torn off that last thirty yards on a brilliant, zig-zag rush around the unsuspecting Mount Morris left end and past a half-dozen desperate defenders, and one cannot perform a feat like that and escape the consequences. As Mr. Smiley said when he stopped to shake hands with Bert at the entrance of Lothrop later, “_Sic itur ad astra_,” very freely translated by Nick into “Thus one becomes a star”!