And Brimfield held them. At least, Brimfield held all but one of them.
It was unfortunate that that one should have been the one who had the
ball! Just what really happened was a matter of discussion for many
days. It occurred so suddenly, with such an intricate mingling of backs
and forwards, that Brimfield was unable then or later to fathom the
play. Even from the side line, where Coach Robey and a dozen or more
substitutes looked on intently, that play was puzzling. All that seemed
clear then or afterwards was that the ball did actually go to the
drop-kicker, that that youth swung his leg in the approved fashion, that
one of the backs–some said the quarter, while others said one of the
halves–ran back and took the pigskin at a hand-pass, and that
subsequently a tackle who had played on the end of the line was seen
tearing across the goal line well toward the other side of the field.
There had undoubtedly been a lateral pass, perhaps two, but the Morgan’s
players had so surrounded the play that the whole thing was as
unfathomable as it was mysterious and as mysterious as it was
unexpected. The one fact that stood out very, very clearly was that the
enemy had scored a touchdown. And, although she afterwards failed to
kick the goal, she had accomplished enough to humble Brimfield. In the
two minutes remaining the home team played desperately, trying its
hardest to secure the ball and get away for a run. But the visitors
refused to yield possession and the whistle sounded a defeat for the
Maroon-and-Grey.

“They’re through. Come on home.”

“Yes; that is, one and a half. I left in the Winter.”

Harmon Dreer into a cocked-hat, but in the end he had to subside
Amy argued and stormed and threatened to go into Number 15 and knock
Harmon Dreer into a cocked-hat, but in the end he had to subside. Penny
insisted on taking his medicine.

instant later by sounds counterfeiting the howling of an unhappy dog
From somewhere down the corridor the anguished wail floated, followed an
instant later by sounds counterfeiting the howling of an unhappy dog.
Threats and pleas mingled.

“Yes, that’s what I’m here for. Are you playing?”

Clint
“More likely he’d set the dog on us at this time of morning,” answered
Clint. And, to lend weight to his objection, a challenging bark came
across the field.

“You can’t be,” persisted Amy. “Dreer went to Claflin last year, and he
knows, don’t you, Dreer?”

Clint smiled. “I reckon the real reason was that you didn’t want to hog
the show and take both prizes, eh?”

“I have to,” grunted Clint. “Here it goes right this time.”