had run out of bounds or that some player had violated the rules, resulting in the stoppage of the play.
As he hurled the ball to the turf, half of the pursuing Tate and Union State players flung themselves at it. Trask, at the bottom of the heap, had the precious pigskin safely snuggled to his breast.
As Harold, knocked down in the rush, arose, the whole Tate team started raving at him. Chester Trask was hurling maledictions upon the Freshman's head. Then Harold realized his terrible mistake.
The whistle that had caused him to throw down the ball had not been blown by the referee! It had come from a locomotive drilling freight cars in the yards over beyond the stadium!
Harold flushed, lowered his head, longed to drop down through the ground. Then, recovering, he trotted back to the ball.
"It's all right, fellows. We'll get 'em yet!" he shouted as nonchalantly as possible.
"One minute left to play and you threw away our only chance!" Blythe, the Tate halfback, grumbled. Others were even more violent and outspoken against him.
Disregarding their hostility and eager to redeem himself, Harold crouched behind Mershon, the center, as the teams lined up
