save Mike Cavendish from apoplexy, Velie, the Tate left end, cut back of the interference and nailed the runner. Tobey had carried the ball back thirty-five yards and the Union State stand was a riot of enthusiasm.
On the bench, Tate's "Big Four" backfield, whom Cavendish always kept out of the first quarter, were hovering around their coach. "Watch this man Tobey," Cavendish said hoarsely. "He's a devil in an open field. Trask, he's your man when you get in there. Don't let him get started. Hey—hey!" Cavendish had stopped his bench coaching abruptly as catastrophe greeted Tate on the field.
Union State had formed quickly. With the Tate line off balance, the ball had been snapped on a direct pass to Wing, the fullback. He held it back of him, seemingly to throw a forward pass, and the confused Tatians instinctively waited for the toss. But even as Wing posed with the ball, the fleet Tobey, coming like a blue tornado, snatched it out of his hand and whirled around left end. Tate was caught napping. There were a few futile stabs at Tobey, but in a second he was out in a clear field, except for Tichenor, the quarterback, forty yards beyond the line of scrimmage. The Union State stands were on their feet yelling, screaming. A
