the carriage, crying, "Come on! Come on!" Rupert hoisted a crutch, and shouted while he waved it.
But swift runner though Herrick was, the St. John's quarter-back was swifter, and heading diagonally up the field toward him, he gradually overhauled him, and at last, fifteen yards from the goal-line, hurled himself headlong through the air and dragged Herrick down.
It was the most daring and the prettiest tackle of the day; and at that the St. John's spectators swept up the field, swinging their caps and flags and cheering as defiantly as St. Timothy's were shouting joyously.
The St. John's captain rushed about among his men, slapping their backs, imploring them to stand firm. Frank Windsor was likewise going from one to another of his team, whispering what might be the magic word.
Then the teams lined up. Eastman, the quarter-back, had an inspiration.
"Fellows," he said, in a sharp voice, "Rupe's waiting for you just beyond the line."
