center more to his ability to keep his eyes on the ball than to any other feature of his playing, was one of the first to cry "Ball! Ball!" Also, he was one of the first to break through. Unfortunately, he came through on his hands and knees and his first effort to capture the erratic pigskin only sent it further afield. But Fudge, by a miracle of spontaniety that must have shocked his system dreadfully, rolled to his feet, seized the bobbing ball from under the outstretched hands of a North Side player and staggered off with it!
Having done that much, Fudge was willing to call a halt, and he proved it by stopping stock-still and, looking back, inviting someone to lay him low. But, as it happened, he was for the moment unchallenged, and instead of a tackle he received the exultant, imperious, entreating cries of his teammates to "Run, Shaw!" "Go it, Fudge!" He heard those cries plainly, in spite of the counter-*cries from the momentarily befuddled enemy, and, although they chimed in not at all with his inclinations, he obeyed them and started, somewhat irresolutely, toward the far-distant goal.
Fudge was not built for speed. There was no unnecessary fat on his somewhat rotund body, but
