swept to the right and hurled themselves at tackle, Chester, his back to the enemy, hugged the ball. Confusion reigned. The left of the Springdale line broke. Then Beaton sprang ahead, took the ball at a hand-pass, and slid through the center, was tackled, plunged on, fighting and squirming, went down with two Springdale backs on him and finally grunted "Down!" The whistle blew and the referee sprang at the pile-up and heeled the spot. "Fourth down!" he called. "Two to go!"
On the side line Morris tugged at his sweater and cast an impatient look at Dick. But the latter shook his head and Morris walked back to the bench and sat down again.
"They've got two yards to go, Dick," he said doubtfully.
"Yes, and they can do it, Morris. Your time will come. Wait."
And do it they did, Lanny himself squeezing through between center and left guard for just enough to secure first down. The ball was now on the thirteen yards and Clearfield was yelling like so many Comanche Indians, while steady cheers for Springdale rolled across the field. Cottrell hurried the fellows back into place, called his sig-
