Again Westcott’s held Trowbridge to a seven-yards gain in two downs, and Trowbridge, as a last resort, tried a complicated forward pass; but Tracy worked through on the end who had come round to make the pass, and threw him before he could complete it. Now, for the first time during the half, the Westcott lads took the offence, though Mac still preferred to rely on Talbot’s foot. Down sailed the ball to the Trowbridge twenty-yard line, only to be kicked back beyond the centre of the field a few minutes later. Here for some minutes the play wavered within the neutral zone. On the exchange of punts there was little advantage except that gained by [Illustration: SWUNG HIM DIRECTLY INTO HARDIE’S ARMS.] Hardie and Harrison as they dodged down the field under the kicks, and nailed the receiver of the ball at his first step; but on the rushes Westcott’s covered more ground, and the play gradually drew near the Trowbridge end of the field. A series of successful line plunges had brought the Westcott offence to the Trowbridge twenty-yard line, when the referee announced at the third down that four yards of the necessary ten were still lacking. Mac conferred with Harrison, and, falling back to the kicking position, knelt at Talbot’s side. The quarter caught Ford’s pass, but instead of placing the ball for a kick, he waited until the Trowbridge men were sweeping down upon him, when he passed to Talbot, who threw the ball in a long spiral that bored its way through the air far over the left side of the line. Hardie was ready to receive it, and so was Ricker. They came together with a shock, but Ricker was short and Roger tall, and the Westcott man clutched the ball over his rival’s head, as the latter tumbled him to the ground. The eight yards to the goal line Pete covered in two downs. Sumner did not see the goal kicked; he was coasting along the side-lines in search of his friend Smith. He found him at last, just as the elevens were changing ends, standing alone near the corner of the field. “Great game, sir!” offered Sumner, politely. “I call it a very poor game,” answered President John, staring straight before him. “That Trowbridge line is rotten.” “It’s hard to understand how they could beat Newbury seventeen to three,” remarked Sumner, cheerfully. “About time enough left for another touch-down, isn’t there?” Smith made no reply to this question, unless a scowl and an unintelligible exclamation could be construed as a reply. But even thus Sumner seemed to consider the conversation worth while, for as he hurried back to the side of the Westcott coach, he was bubbling with glee.