So the game went on for ten minutes, and the Pornellites had gained exactly twenty-five yards, no more.
"Looks like a stand-off," said several. "Say, maybe those young soldiers aren't game!"
"That's what—but we'll wax 'em!" was the answer, and then of a sudden came another yell, for Pornell had the ball and was pushing it straight ahead for Putnam's goal.
"Ten yards!"
"Five yards more!"
"Fifteen yards more!"
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"
Toot! toot-a-root-toot! Clack-clack-clack, bang!
The Pornellites were now wild, but they stared blankly as they saw plucky Tom Rover snatch the leather up and run back twenty yards with it.
"He's going right through with it!"
"There goes Hardy after him!"
"Down they go!"
"Lushear has the ball! It's going back!"
"Run, Lushear, run! A dollar if you make it!"
"They can't catch him! Oh, pshaw! Down he goes!"
"But the ball is safe! A touchdown! Hurrah!"
