On the five-yard line the Harvard defense stiffened. On the third down
the ball was two yards from the goal line.

“Everybody get into this next play—everybody!” cried Collingwood
appealingly; he went about slapping his men on the back. “Now
then—twelve, thirty-seven, eighteen.”

There was a surge forward, a quivering, toppling mass that finally fell
indecisively. No one knew whether the ball had been pushed across or
not. No one wanted to get up for fear it might be pushed one way or the
other in the shifting.

Barclay and Randolph, who was umpire, began summarily dragging the
players from the pile, hauling at an arm or a leg; at last Dennison was
revealed at the bottom hugging the ball—and it was just across the line.

Then all the St. Timothy’s players capered about for joy, and the
spectators shouted as triumphantly as if it had been the St. John’s
game; the Harvard team ranged themselves quietly under the goal.
Dennison kicked the goal, and the score was tied.

For the next ten minutes neither team succeeded in making much progress.
St. Timothy’s were playing more aggressively than in the first half;
twice Kenyon, the Harvard halfback, started to skirt round Lawrence’s
end, but both times Baldersnaith, the St. Timothy’s tackle, broke
through and dragged him down. Baldersnaith, Dennison, Morrill, and
Collingwood were especially distinguishing themselves for the School.

At last, after one of the scrimmages, Dennison got up, hobbled a moment,
and then sat down again. Collingwood hurried over to him anxiously.