held the pigskin out and faltered laboredly "Take it!"
But Grover had shot his bolt. He fell behind. Only his voice followed Fudge: "Run, Shaw! You've got it!"
So poor Fudge, his short legs twinkling so fast that they became a mere purplish-yellow blur, ran! And behind him came friend and foe. Midfield now, and still uncaptured! Only fifty yards more! Only! The stand was shouting wildly. From the side lines, where raced shrieking partisans of the visitors, came cries of rage, of encouragement, of despair! One by one the High School interference, hastily formed but effective, performed their duty and fell behind, and now only one of the enemy pursued and only one of the High School players followed. At the forty yards Fudge was gasping painfully for breath. At the thirty he was ready, more than ready to give up. If only, thought Fudge, someone would pull him down! He resented the fact that he was allowed to run his legs off, and held it in for weeks against Danny Shores' team that they had so easily allowed themselves to be put out of the running!
At the twenty-yard line Fudge saw the goal-
