Chester followed Morris back and knelt in front of him. "All right?" he asked, looking up.
Morris nodded, shuffling on his feet. Chester patted the ground with his hand. Morris looked for an instant at the cross-bar and edged back another foot or so.
"A little more this way," he said.
"Block this, Springdale!" implored the Blue's quarter, dodging back and forth behind the line.
"All right," said Morris.
Quiet fell over the field. The Clearfield linemen crouched. Lanny, behind his own left guard, poised tensely. Across from him, Tupper stood ready to guard the kicker. Todd was between Beaton and Wayland on the right of the line. Chester, facing the left, one knee on the ground, held his hands toward the center.
"Signals!" he shouted briskly. "44—18—110!"
Morris gave a final look at the cross-bar. The enemy, panting, gasping, swayed restively.
"44—18—110!"
"Block it! Block it!" shrieked the defenders.
Back sped the ball to Chester's outstretched hands. The lines heaved. Canvas rasped against canvas, bodies strained, cries and grunts from labored lungs
