Wing. You can nail this Tobey. But you let 'em suck you in, fool you. You act like schoolboys playing your first game." And so on to the extent of ten minutes.
Harold, listening to every word, was filled with a mad longing to get out there and show them what Cavendish meant. His fists clenched. If Cavendish would only let him in there—he'd stop Wing; he'd nail Tobey; he'd get hold of that ball and then rush the feet of¥ those big Blue giants! He trotted out with the team and took his place on the bench beside Hollister.
The teams lined up again. This time Union State, fresh and inspired by their score, kicked off to Tate. McCoy sent a long, lazy spiral into the hands of Crawford. The latter, catching it with that easy grace for which he was famous, was off fleet as a deer. But the huge Union State advance guard tore through the Tate interference as if it were paper. Two husky Blue shirts hit Crawford at the same time. He went down like a shot. Out of the sharp contact three bodies hitting at full force came a queer little click. Cavendish groaned aloud. Rightly. For, though Crawford had clung to the ball, his weak ankle had not survived the rough handling of his tacklers. When the Union Staters rose, Crawford was stretched at full length
