had declared them a great second-half team, Clifford had failed to
add to their score during the half hour that had elapsed, that
lone touchdown standing to their credit.

"Boys, we want a bigger score than this!" called Captain Allen
eagerly, when time was taken out to enable some wind to be pumped
back into Style. "We've got thirteen points, and they have five.
It's too close a margin. We've got time enough to make another
touchdown."

"If we can get the ball," added West.

"We've _got_ to get it!" cried the captain. "It's the first
down. Hold 'em, and throw the man with the ball for a loss if you
can. They may kick on the second down instead of waiting for the
third. Then we'll have 'em."

The whistle blew and Style came slowly back into the line. He was
pale and weak, as the manner in which he gave the signals showed.
There were anxious looks on the faces of his mates, and glances
of eager expectation on those of his opponents.

Wentworth came smashing for a hole he expected would be opened up
between Daly and Shay, but Shay was ready and did more than his
partner to block off the play. Wentworth was hurled back, and
there was a net loss of two yards to Clifford.

"Look out for a kick!" warned Frank.

It came, for Clifford was desperately afraid, and Comfort got the