up the field. Something seemed to be the matter with Randall. She was giving way—a slump.
"Hold! hold! Hold 'em!" pleaded Dan Woodhouse.
His men braced, but either they did not work together, or they braced at the wrong moment, for on came Boxer Hall. Right up the field they went, until they were only twenty yards away from the Randall goal line.
There were glum feelings in the hearts of the supporters of the yellow and maroon, and wild, delirious joy in the ranks of the enemies, for the stands were rioting with cheers and songs, while above all came the deep-throated demand for:
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
"And they'll get it, too, if we don't stop 'em," thought Tom, in despair. He had been playing well, and taking care of all the men who came his way, but that was all he could do.
Then Randall braced, and, in the nick of time, and held to such advantage that Boxer had to kick. Joe Jackson caught the ball, and was gathering himself for a run back, when Langridge, who had broken through with incredible swiftness, tackled him, almost in the very spot where the Randall full-back had grabbed the pigskin. Langridge and Joe went down in a heap, and how it happened, Joe, with tears in his eyes, later,
