Coach Cade whipped and spurred and the first fought as it hadn’t fought for two weeks and more. One by one the substitutes were withdrawn whenever possible and first-string men took their places, and there was a last whirlwind, breathless five minutes that took the ball half the length of the field and landed it under the scrub’s goal. There, spurning half-measures, Ned Richards, who had replaced Appel, sought to drive across. A field-goal would have been possible, easily possible from the eighteen-yard line, but a touchdown was still something that the first was incapable of against a team which, like the scrubs, had been fed for a fortnight on victory. Coach Cade stormed and thundered, Captain Mart shouted encouragement, Ned Richards scolded and goaded, and each time the second team gave back grudgingly, growlingly a scant yard or two yards. It was fourth down on the thirteen yards, with five to go, and Ned took matters into his own hands. A fake forward by Linthicum, standing well back of the line, the ball to Ned instead, a moment of delay and concealment, and then a lightning dash inside tackle on the right. It was Goodwin who stopped the runner barely on the eight yards. There was doubt about the distance and talk of measuring, but the second team captain pushed the hesitant official aside.
“Let ’em have it!” he said hoarsely, defiantly. “Sure, they made it!” He silenced a protest from the red-headed Reilly sharply. “Now let’s see ’em get over! Come on, Second! Show ’em who we are! They don’t know they’re up against the _real_ team!” There was insult in that emphasis, and the first growled angrily. But the second laughed proudly and exultantly and lined up inside the eight yards and drew in their breaths deeply. Then came the onslaught once more. Mawson tried to get through Captain Falls and made less than a yard. Moncks tried the other guard position and made nothing. The first snapped into a shift and Linthicum edged back up the field. The second crossed to meet it. Russell went out and back. The ball passed, was gone from sight. A sudden massing of the scrubs at the left of center. A muddy helmet was lifted above the mêlée, was poised there an instant and went back and down. The scrubs pushed in. A whistle blew.