Now the Gray-and-Gold was back in the gymnasium, sore and battle-scarred; weary, too, but not knowing it. And the minutes were ticking away fast toward the second half. Manager Johnson, watch in hand, pale-faced and as nervous as a wet hen, walked a sentry beat between the door and the benches. Coach Cade had said his say, and he and Captain Proctor and Ned Richards were conferring soberly together.
“Time’s about up, Coach!” called Johnson.
The group of three broke up. The coach nodded to the manager and then held up his hand. “Same line-up,” he announced, “except Longstreth at right half and Emerson at right end. All right! You know what to do, fellows! Let’s get them this time!”
There was a cheer, hoarse, deafening, and then they crowded eagerly about the door, pushing and shoving good-naturedly, laughing, pranking, until, outside, they waited for Mart Proctor to take the lead. Then they trotted back to the gridiron, while the long Alton cheer broke forth from the stand.
Russell, keeping close beside Jimmy, tugged his sleeve. “Jimmy,” he asked with dry lips, “Jimmy, did he say me at right end?”
Jimmy turned and laughed at sight of Russell’s face. “Yes, you lucky dog! For the love of Pete, don’t look like that, Rus! What’s the matter?” Jimmy knew, but pretended he didn’t. Russell grinned crookedly and wet his lips with his tongue.
“Fine stuff! Hand it on! I’ll be with you pretty soon, son, and we’ll show those red-legs how to play football!”
During the first half of the game McLeod had played left end and Lake right. Harley had showed himself just as much at home on the left of the line as in his accustomed position, but Lake, first substitute, had not equaled him. Lake had been boxed far too often, and, once, when he had missed a tackle almost under Kenly’s goal, the Cherry-and-Black’s quarter had dodged his way along the side line to the forty yards before he had been pulled down by Richards. Coach Cade had determined to try a new right end for the third quarter. Perhaps when the fourth period began Lake would go back again. Meanwhile new blood might help.
Kenly kicked off and Longstreth captured the short kick and was brought down with no gain. From the twenty-eight yards Alton began her journey. Kenly’s line from guard to guard was impregnable. That had been already proved. Her tackles, too, were clever and not easily fooled. In short, gains through the Kenly line were few and far between, and Alton had recourse now to end runs and occasional forward passes. Russell’s stage-fright lasted through two plays. Then he forgot to be scared, forgot everything but his overmastering desire to serve and win. After all, this was not greatly different from playing against the first. Those red-legged, red-sleeved opponents seemed no more in earnest than the old opponents and played no more desperately. The big, square-jawed tackle who faced him at times was no more formidable than Mart Proctor had been. In fact, Russell began to think that Mart was the better of the two, especially after Ned Richards, with a cunningly concealed ball, whizzed inside the big tackle for four yards.