Frank felt himself clutched, but he refused to be dragged down. He felt hands clinging to him, and, with all the fierceness he could summon, he strove to break away and go on. His lips were covered with a bloody foam, and there was a frightful glare in his eyes. He strained and strove to get a little farther, and he actually dragged Hollender along the ground till he broke the fellow’s hold. Then he reeled across Harvard’s line and fell.
It was a touch-down in the last seconds of the game. There was not even time to kick a goal, but Yale had won by a score of four to nothing!
He was carried from the field by his friends, who took him to a hotel and put him to bed. A doctor came to see him and prescribed for him. They came round his bed and told him what a noble fellow he was.
“Don’t boys!” he begged. “You make me tired! And I’m so happy! We won, fellows――we won the game!”
“You won it!” cried Jack Diamond fiercely. “They can’t rob you of that glory! They’ve tried to rob you of enough!”
“No, no! We all did it. Think how the boys fought! It was splendid! And that was the best eleven Harvard ever put on the field. Oh, what a glorious Thanksgiving!”
“But you are knocked out,” said Rattleton. “It’s too bad you can’t enjoy it with the rest of the fellows! They own Boston to-night!”
“Enjoy it!” exclaimed Frank, with a faint laugh. “I am enjoying it! Never in my life have I enjoyed a Thanksgiving so much!”
“Old man,” said Browning, “your heart is in the right place. It was your heart that won the game to-day. If it had had one weak spot, we could not have won.”
“It is the heart of a lion,” said Bart Hodge.
“Now, you’re not going to escape without some of this flattery!” smiled Frank. “You did as much as any man on the field.”
“Boys,” said Frank, “I’m so glad――and I’m so tired! The pain in my side does not hurt so much since the doctor gave me the medicine. I feel sleepy. I believe I’ll sleep awhile. Oh, what a glorious Thanksgiving!”
Even as he murmured the words, he seemed to fall asleep. They stole out of the room and left him there, with Bart Hodge watching at the bedside, like a faithful dog.
MEDAL LIBRARY NO. 365 A weekly publication devoted to good literature. June 25, 1906.
All boys who read the stories published in this famous library agree that they are “_Just the Thing_.”