Bell amid the curious but silent faces of the perspiring players and stooped behind the center. He wished now that he had waited longer to digest the signals given him by Trask. Somehow they did not seem so clear out here.
"7—25—4—5," he barked in a good imitation of Crawford. He took the ball cleanly from the snapperback. The opposing lines clashed. The third team backfield drove toward the line. Harold turned to plant the ball safely in the abdomen of his right halfback. But no halfback appeared. Instead, the second team's right tackle, catapulting through the line, tackled Harold fiercely and nailed him to the spot. As the Freshman arose he knew that he had done something wrong. The third string left halfback quickly confirmed this.
"Where was the ball?" that muddy-faced worthy shouted with unnecessary loudness.
"Why—that wasn't your signal. It was the other—"
"It wasn't! Why don't you learn the signals before you come out here losing the ball for us? We could have had a touchdown, too. Only two yards to gain to make first down. It's a shame! You play in back of the line there now. I'll lay back for punts."
Chastened, Harold obeyed. danced
