The ball left Ellison and sped back to Tom. Archer swung to the left and crossed behind. Tom, too, was running that way now, the ball before him, and so were Treader and Houston, and so carefully were they spaced that not one of the enemy save the left end saw the ball pass from Tom to Archer behind that moving screen. But that left end, coming through inside Clif Bingham, was not able to use his knowledge to advantage, for Treader crashed into him and he went down, sprawling in the path of the runners. The Wolcott right end, speeding around, met Thayer, and that fact kept him, too, forever out of the play. Treader and Houston swept on around the right, but Tom, slackening speed, tarried while Archer, still running toward the side-line, found his position for the throw. Then a Wolcott tackle came plunging up, and Tom had his work cut out for him. As he and the brown-stockinged foe met, Archer dropped his right arm behind his shoulder, swept it forward again and threw, straight and hard, down the field from the thirty-six yards. No one had seriously interfered with Clif when the ball had been snapped. Dodging wide, he had let the Wolcott left end past inside him. Then, warily, as though only desirous of avoiding the rough encounters behind, he sped none too hurriedly across three white marks. The Wolcott left halfback started toward him, but after one stride changed his course. To him the play was what it seemed, a fake kick and a wide sweep about the left of his line, and he hurried up to get into it. Midway between the five-yard-line and the ten Clif stopped and swung about. If the play had been timed right the ball should be already on its way. It was. So, too, was the Wolcott quarterback, and, further away, others. But the ball came faster than they, and it came true. Clif set himself, held his hands out for it, felt it thump into them, tightened his clutch about it, turned and ran. There was but one white mark to cross before the goal-line, and he had spurned it before the enemy reached him. Then came the supreme test. The Wolcott quarterback launched himself forward, but Clif had anticipated the tackle by the fraction of a second. He twisted to the right, perilously close to the side-line, spun, saw the enemy go sprawling past, hands clutching, emptily, leaped the falling body and was safe. There was the last white streak a stride away and he had crossed it before the second enemy reached him, crossed it and dropped to earth, the battered ball held tightly wrapped in his arms! * * * * *