"Betty," says Helen, in a low voice, "be quiet."

"Oh, I don't care," cries Betty passionately. "I want to go."

"He'll hold all right," says Lloyd confidently, and Betty grows
suddenly quiet.

"Ay, that he will, yon chap," agrees Mrs. Macgregor, standing up and
trying to see what is going on.

"If The Don can hold for three minutes it will count two for his
side; if Mooney and Carroll can get the ball away it will only count
one," explained Lloyd.

About the three players struggling on the ground the crowd pours
itself, yelling, urging, imploring, shrieking directions. Campbell
stoops down over The Don and shouts into his ear. "Hold on, Don. It
means the game," and The Don, lying on his back, winds his arms
round the ball and sets himself to resist the efforts of Mooney and
Carroll to get it away.

In vain the police and field censors try to keep back the crowd.
They are swept helpless into the centre. Madder and wilder grows the
tumult, while the referee stands, watch in hand, over the struggling
three.

"Stop that choking, Carroll," says Shock to the little quarter, who
is gripping The Don hard about the throat.