"Get off, Mooney," cries Campbell. "Get off his chest with your
knees. Get off, I say, or I'll knock your head off."

But Mooney persists in boring into The Don's stomach with his knees,
tugging viciously at the ball. With a curse Campbell springs at him.
But as he springs a dozen hands reach for him. There is a wild rush
of twenty men for each other's throats. Too close to strike they can
only choke and scrag and hack each other fiercely. The policemen
push in, threatening with their batons, and there is a prospect of a
general fight when the referee's whistle goes. Time is up. The MAUL
is over. 'Varsity has its two points. The score now stand even, four
to four, with two minutes to play.

They lift The Don from the ground. His breath is coming in gasps and
he is trembling with the tremendous exertions of the last three
minutes.

"Time there!" calls out Shock, who has Balfour in his arms.

The smile is all gone from Shock's face. As he watches The Don
struggling in deep gasps to recover his breath, for the first time
in his football life he loses himself. He hands his friend to a
couple of men standing near, strides over to Mooney, and catching
him by the throat begins to shove him back through the crowd.

"You brute, you!" he roars. "What kind of a game do you call that!
Jumping on a man when he is down, with your knees! For very little,"
he continues, struggling to get his arm free from the men who are
hanging on it, "I would knock your face off."