turned tentatively to where McCoy sat further along the bench, blanket-wrapped, his eyes too bent intently on the field. But Lanny was soon up again, and, had you been sitting next to McCoy, you'd have heard a sigh of disappointment.
Chester Cottrell thumped the lineman on the back, hoarsely encouraging and threatening. Lanny pulled his head-guard on again and the whistle shrilled. The backs sprang to their places and Cottrell gave the signal. Tupper received the ball and hurled himself at the right of the line, but the Blue held and there was no gain. Cottrell scolded and raged. A criss-cross sent Lanny three yards through left guard, and it was third down with seven to go, the pigskin on the twenty-three. On the side line Morris was trotting slowly up and down, casting eager, inquiring glances at Dick's inscrutable face.
"Signals!" shrieked Cottrell. "Get into it now, Clearfield! Make this go! Signals! 81—29—61!"
"Watch for a forward!" called the Springdale quarter from under his goal. "Come back, Holman! Break this up, Springdale!"
"81—29—6!"
The ball went to Chester, Lanny and Tupper
