No team could continue the pace that Manning had set at the start, and when Cutts had again kicked off from the midfield and Pearsall had caught and reeled off twelve yards there was a perceptible let-down in Manning’s speed, and, since the Blue had in the interim between the scoring and the kick-off pulled herself together, the opponents appeared more closely matched. Pearsall made her distance once, Connor carrying the ball around Whaley when two tries at the left of center had yielded five yards. The Blue’s fullback got two through Le Gette, but after two more tries at the line Pearsall punted to Stuart on his thirty-two. He managed to dodge back for five before he was thrown heavily.
Manning began then a systematic bucking of the Pearsall center and obtained good results, Tasker and Burns gaining between tackles for enough to take the pigskin in the Blue’s territory. There an off-side penalty set her back and Littlefield was caught off the line and dumped on his head. Stuart punted to the Blue’s fourteen and Pearsall kicked on second down to Manning’s forty. Manning failed to make her distance on three tries and Tasker punted. The kick was short and a Pearsall back landed the ball on his thirty-two. A forward pass grounded, but on the next play Connor again went around Whaley and reached Manning’s forty-six. A second attempt at the same play was spilled for a loss and Pearsall sent her left half close off Thurston for six. The quarter ended and the teams changed fields.
Pearsall had regained her confidence and showed it, and the Blue stand was shouting madly. Pearsall brought off her first successful forward-pass and made it go for nine yards, placing the ball close to the home team’s thirty-yard line. Pearsall’s quarterback got loose around his left and added four more, and Coach Haynes hurried Wesner on in place of Whaley. The Blue was playing desperately and was hard to stop. Yet from the twenty-six her progress was slower and it required the tape to determine her right to retain possession of the ball on the twenty. But she had made her distance by an inch or two, and the Pearsall supporters went mad with joy. Almost on the threshold, the Blue became cautious and, using a right shift, concentrated on the enemy’s tackles. But two tries gained her only three yards and Loring, her left half, went back to kicking position. As was expected, the third down became an attempt at a plunge through center, an attempt that was spoiled by the Manning backs. Then, from the twenty-three, Loring got the ball on a good pass, dropped it and kicked. Manning broke through, but, although Jack Brewton tipped the pigskin with his fingers, the ball went squarely across the bar and the Blue had scored.
The rest of the second period passed without further scoring, although, with but two minutes to play, Stuart, faking a pass to Tasker, hid the ball for an instant and then shot straight through the enemy’s center and dodged and squirmed through the backfield for twenty-eight yards, landing the pigskin on Pearsall’s twenty-nine. That sample of the quarterback’s return to his old form brought the Manning cheerers to their feet, and there they stayed, cheering wildly, imploring a touchdown. But, although Coach Haynes sped Hanson in for Littlefield and Hanson and Lowe and Tasker each banged at the Pearsall line or plunged past tackle, three downs left the Cherry-and-Gray three yards short of her distance and Stuart and Jack held a consultation. Stuart was all for risking a forward pass, but Jack preferred playing it safer on a try at a field goal.
“It had better be Le Gette, then,” Stuart panted. “I’m all in, Jack. But he can do it.”
“All right! Let’s have it!”
Le Gette looked a little bit pale when he dropped back to the twenty-eight. The distance was nothing to bother him, nor was the angle extreme, but this was his first attempt during the game and he was nervous. And things went against him: Joe Cutts passed high and Le Gette wasted a valuable moment getting the ball to position: a Pearsall guard got through between Beeman and Cutts and, although Hanson spilled him, added to Le Gette’s worriment. As a result the ball started well but, short of the goal, veered from its path. There was a moment of doubt that ended with a yell of relief from Pearsall. The pigskin had passed a foot outside the further upright! Le Gette looked as if he wanted to cry, but Stuart said: “Hard luck, Steve! You’ll get the next one!” and the teams lined up once more. Pearsall tried one smash at the foe and then the whistle blew.
Manning and Pearsall sang and cheered all through the intermission, Manning with the confidence that a four-point lead gave her, Pearsall with the hope of ultimate victory. When the teams trotted back again all previous efforts in the line of cheering were paled by the mighty welcomes that burst forth from the stands. Pearsall had made but one change in her line-up, Manning two. Codman was at left guard in place of Beeman and Wheaton was at quarter. Stuart saw the rest of the game from the bench. He held no resentment toward Mr. Haynes, for “Wheat” had proved his right to the position and the coach had fulfilled his promise. If, secretly, Stuart believed that he could have played that second half better than his rival, he gave no voice to the belief. He took what consolation he could from the conviction that he had performed well while he had been in and tried not to be unduly troubled by the reflection that had he tried that goal from field instead of Le Gette, Manning’s score might now be three points bigger.
Pearsall came back for that third period at least twenty per cent better. What had passed in the Blue’s quarters during half-time none but the members of the team and their coach knew, but whatever it was it had had its effect. Pearsall, with her line-up practically unaltered, took command of the situation at once. Manning gave the kick-off to Pearsall and when the ball had landed in Muirgart’s arms near his twenty-five-yard line she kept it but a brief time. Three rushes proved the enemy’s line too strong, and Tasker punted. Fate took a hand then. That punt was high and short and was pulled down on the fifty-yard line. From there Pearsall opened up a new style of attack, placing her backs, three-abreast, close to her line and keeping the plays concealed most bewilderingly. She found a weak spot at Codman and made gain after gain there until Codman was replaced by Baker. She pulled off two forward-passes that were as successful as they were daring, using long heaves far down the field to an unprotected end. Six minutes after the kick-off the Blue was hammering at Manning’s portal and the Cherry-and-Gray, desperate, was fighting for those final ten yards.
Pearsall saw victory ahead and was not to be denied. Amidst a continued welter of noise from the stands, she hammered and banged, gaining two yards here, three there, making it first down at last on Manning’s six. Irmo went in for Cutts, who was showing wear, and the Manning center stood steady. With four yards to go on fourth down, Pearsall, faking a kick, sent Connor skimming around the right end and, with sinking hearts, the Cherry-and-Gray’s adherents saw him stagger across the goal line at the corner of the field. From that touchdown Loring sent over an easy goal, and on the score-board the white numerals changed from 7 to 3 to 7 to 10!
But there still remained nearly twenty minutes of playing time and, undaunted, Manning went back to the contest. Pearsall for the rest of that period seemed content to play on the defensive and punted whenever the ball fell into her hands in her own territory. Manning found the Blue line almost impregnable and was forced to use all the tricks in her bag to make her gains. But luck seemed against her. Forward passes failed and end runs were as often stopped behind the line as beyond it. Yet, by hook or by crook, the Cherry-and-Gray managed to make her distance four times before the whistle ended the third period, though never once reaching far into Pearsall territory. When the period ended the ball was Manning’s on her thirty-four yards, following a punt by the enemy.
Stuart, watching anxiously from the bench, squirmed time and again as the home team’s plays failed to gain and the minutes sped past. There was something psychological in Manning’s condition, and Stuart recognized the fact, although he didn’t use such a long word to describe it to himself. He merely said: “That touchdown has taken the starch right out of them!” It wasn’t that Manning didn’t try hard, for she did. Her men were fairly working themselves to death. But labor and skill, if ill applied, fail of their purpose, and Manning was somehow fighting blindly. Stuart recalled a movie comedy he had seen wherein a man had tried mightily to break through a door in a wall that ended ten feet further along. The team, he thought, was like that man. It was wasting its efforts trying to get through what might better be got around or over. It had tried to get around, to be sure, and it had tried to get over as well, but it hadn’t tried the right way. In running the ends it had been advertising the play beforehand, starting the runner from well behind the line and sweeping the interference along with him. Why, the veriest idiot could have told what was coming! As for her forward passes, he could find little fault with the execution of those. Sheer luck had spoiled them, it seemed. But the team did have a puzzling forward pass play which was well disguised as a half back run, and that had not been attempted. More than once he was moved to speak his thoughts to Coach Haynes, but always something held him back. After all, the Coach had eyes and doubtless saw just what Stuart saw. Perhaps when the fourth period began the Cherry-and-Gray team would find itself again.
While the teams changed fields and water carriers scampered to the side lines with pails and paper cups, Coach Haynes turned from a conference with The Laird and summoned Littlefield to him. A few brief words were exchanged and Billy, throwing off his blanket, ran on. No other change was made. Yet when Manning had wasted one play on an ill-fated attack at the Pearsall line on the left of center, she suddenly changed her tactics, and Stuart, observing, sighed his relief.
“Haynes has sent the right dope, I guess,” he confided to Lowe, beside him. “Now maybe we’ll see something.”
But Pearsall was not napping, and, although Littlefield sneaked through between tackle and end on the left, the gain was short. Another try outside of end went better, but fourth down found them shy three yards of the required ten, and Tasker booted. This time, catching near her twenty-five, her quarterback slammed to earth without gain by Muirgart, Pearsall didn’t kick on first down, nor yet on second or third. Instead, she began a hard drive on Manning’s left wing, hitting Brewton and Baker for short gains and then getting past Jack on the outside for nearly the distance. A fake kick and a quick slam at center gave her first down on her thirty-six. From there the Blue, abandoning defensive tactics, took the war into the enemy’s territory in just seven plays. Muirgart gave place to Jakin at left end and went limping off to the cheers of the Manning stand. Pearsall worked a quarterback run for eight and followed with a well-disguised forward-pass that landed the ball on Manning’s thirty-two. There, however, she hit a snag and, with a yard to go on fourth down, saw her backs piled up with no gain. Almost under the shadow of her goal, Manning took no risk of losing the ball, but, after one futile plunge at right tackle, punted.
Tasker got nearly fifty yards on that kick, and the Manning supporters yelled their relief and delight. Pearsall started back determinedly from her thirty-five, gained four around Jakin, gained one at the same end, made two through Irmo and again kicked. Littlefield caught on his twenty-seven and swept the ball back to the forty before he was stopped. Then began another brave attempt to reach the distant goal. Using C Formation, with the backs spread widely, Manning fought her way across midfield and started a determined march into the enemy country. With Tasker back as though to punt, Littlefield and Burns found gaps time and again and shot through the line only to be brought to earth by the secondary defense. Yet the short gains were consistent for awhile, and the pigskin went nearer and nearer the Blue’s goal. But the minutes were ticking themselves off with fatal rapidity, and as, past the thirty-five, the gains shortened, and, finally, Burns was thrown for a loss, Stuart knew that there was to be no victory for the home team to-day.
On the enemy’s thirty-two, with four to go on fourth down, Wheaton tried a desperate expedient. Given another five yards or so, he would be willing to risk a try for a goal from the field, and so, sending Le Gette back to kicking position and dropping to the ground as though to hold the ball for a place kick, Wheaton called his signals. Pearsall, alarmed, held herself ready to break through. Then the ball sped back into Wheaton’s hands. But instead of kicking it Le Gette only swung his foot past it, and the next moment Wheaton was on his feet stepping back, the pigskin poised for a throw. Then Jakin signaled and the ball sped across the line. It was a fine toss and a fine catch and although the left end did not get free, he made the twenty-two yards before he was smothered by the enemy.
The Manning stand saw victory waving, and such a shout went up from the throats of her devoted hundreds that even the wearied and jaded players felt the thrill. Manning was racing with Time now, for the linesman was slowly edging nearer and nearer, his eyes constantly dropping to the dial of the stop watch in his hand, and it seemed that Time must win. The two-minute period had already been announced, and more than twenty yards remained between the Cherry-and-Gray and a victory. Manning sprang quickly to position, but not so quickly that the time she consumed did not seem interminable to the anxious watchers. Pearsall was less inclined to speed, but the opponent made her hustle. Littlefield tried hard to gain off tackle on the right, but made less than two yards. Next, what looked like the same play resolved itself into another forward pass, but this time Wesner failed to get into place and the pass grounded. Then Fortune again turned her back on the Cherry-and-Gray warriors. Tasker smashed through between left guard and tackle for nearly five yards, but the squawking of the horn spelled disaster and the referee paced off five yards and put the ball back close to the twenty-five-yard line. Jakin had been caught off-side.
Stuart groaned aloud. Third down and thirteen yards to go! And seconds instead of minutes left! Would Wheaton waste any of that precious time on a hopeless rush or would he call on Le Gette for a field goal from about the thirty-three yards that looked equally hopeless? All expectation of a victory had been abandoned by the Manning supporters. Instead, they prayed for a tie score, and, as the precious seconds ticked themselves away, prayed silently.
Yet that silence was broken before the whistle blew again, for Towne was running on, and, behind him, four more substitutes, and the Manning stand answered the cheer leaders’ demand for “A short cheer for Towne!” for Leonard, for Thompson, for Lowe, for Whiting! Cheers for those who retired were cut short, for the whistle piped once more, the referee scuttled to safety and a sigh of relief burst from Stuart. Le Gette was walking back!
“Twenty-four seconds!” some one was crying as he took his stand. But that didn’t worry him. The play once begun, time was of no account. It was the distance and angle that caused him trepidation. He was eight yards behind the line and the line was close to the twenty-five; and the nearer goal post was well to his left. Perhaps had he been fresh, with his lungs not seemingly on the point of stopping work and his heart not pounding like a sledge, he might have faced his task with more confidence. But as it was his spine felt more like a column of water than a thing of bone and his muscles were twitching.
On the stands a deep silence had fallen. Pearsall’s cry of “Block that kick!” had dwindled away. Even the shouts of the opposing players had lapsed to hoarse mutters as Irmo, sighting, prepared to shoot the ball back. Wheaton, crouched behind the center, yelped his signals in a voice that cracked. Steve Le Gette held his trembling hands straight out, stiffened himself on his wobbling legs. Then came the thuds of meeting bodies, the rasping of canvas against canvas, the wild, unintelligible cries, the throaty grunts as Pearsall hurled herself at the enemy. But came, too, the battered brown ball, turning lazily over twice on its shorter axis and settling true into the outstretched hands awaiting it. One more brief glance at the crossbar, a quick turning of the ball, a single step forward, a powerful swing of a leg! Then forms blotted the speeding ball from his sight. The enemy was all about him, plunging past, toppling to the trampled sod.
Up and up, slowly, unconcernedly, went the ball, hung for a moment against the blue of the sky and arched downward. Midway between the posts it sailed and, for a fleeting instant, as it began its descent, it was eclipsed by the white streak of the crossbar!