THE ROVER BOYS Boxed Set: 26 Illustrated Adventure Novels - Stratemeyer Edward

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exclaimed Tom, as he surveyed the multitude. "I didn't think we were going to have such an audience as this!"

      "Nor I," returned Sam. "We must do our level best, fellows!"

      "That's what!" came from several. "If we get whipped —— "

      "Remember what Baxter did — that's enough to nerve anybody on," finished Larry Colby. "By the way, where is Baxter?"

      "Sneaked out of the ranks," answered another player. "Nobody wanted to march with him."

      "Well, I don't blame them," concluded Sam.

      Doctor Pornell now put in an appearance and desired to know if the football team did not wish to march around the oval escorted by his own players.

      "Certainly!" cried Sam. "And to show this is a purely friendly match, let us march side by side," he went on, and this was also arranged. The Putnam Hall drum-and-fife corps led the march, and each player strode forth with a rival at his side. The march brought forth a wild round of applause and a veritable shrieking of tin horns and cracking of wooden clappers.

      After the march each team was allowed quarter of an hour for practicing. The Pornellites came out first and tumbled over the leather in lively fashion. The Putnamites soon followed.

      "They may be all right, but they haven't the weight," said one of the rivals. And this appeared true, for each Pornellite, man for man, was at least five pounds heavier than his opponent. But weight does not always count for everything, even in a football match.

      "Time for practice is up!" came presently, and the two teams drew away from the gridiron. Then there was a toss-up for goals, and Pornell won and took the east end, that which was most favored by the slight breeze that was blowing.

      And then the great game began.

      CHAPTER XVI

       THE GREAT FOOTBALL GAME

       Table of Contents

      The halves were to be of twenty minutes each, so no time was lost in putting the leather into the field. It was Putnam's kick-off, and on the instant the ball went sailing into the air, to land well into Pornell's territory. Then came a grand rush, and before the words can be put down twenty-two lads were at it nip-and-tuck to get possession of the sphere.

      "It's Pornell's ball!"

      "Say, but aint this going to be a snappy game!"

      "Our fellows have the ball!"

      "There she goes up five yards into Putnam ground!"

      "Carry that ball back!" yelled Dick excitedly. "Don't let them gain an inch!"

      "Whoop her up for Pornell!"

      And then came a wild blare of tin horns and a waving of the academy colors, brown and white. The waving of the Hall colors, an American flag set in a border of green, came also, with an equal din from horns and wooden clappers.

      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!"

      The cry was correct. Just three minutes before the end of the first half the Pornell team scored a touchdown. Instantly preparations were made to kick a goal if possible. But the kick was a failure, and the two sides retired for the half with the score standing 4 to 0 in Pornell Academy's favor.

      Glumly the Hall boys retired to their dressing room, there to be rubbed down by their chums. "It's too bad, it certainly is," came from a dozen sympathizers. "But it can't be helped. Don't give up yet."

      "They are too heavy for us in mass play," said Sam. "We must try more running away with the leather." And so it was agreed.

      Soon the gong rang, and they re-entered the field.

      "Now, Putnam Hall, do your best! We are looking at you!"

      "They can't play a little bit," sneered Dan Baxter. "I'm ashamed of them," and he smiled to himself, thinking the fifty dollars put up on the game was already as good as won.

      Sam had given his team some explicit instructions, and these were now being followed. As soon as the ball came into Putnam's possession there was a run on their part that carried the sphere twenty yards into their opponents' territory.

      "Go in and win, Putnam!"

      "That's the way to do it!"

      "Take it from them, Pornell! Go for it! Take it!"

      And Pornell did take it, and half the distance gained was lost.

      Both teams were now warmed up, and for fully five minutes the ball flew back and forth, remaining at the end of that time almost in the center of the gridiron. Then Pornell tried some heavy mass play, but lost the leather on a fumble, and it came into Tom Rover's possession.

      Away flew Tom, as though a legion of demons were after him, straight for Pornell's goal. The crowd began to shout itself hoarse.

      "See Tom Rover! Go it, Tom, old boy, go it!"

      "He can't carry it through! See, Conkey and Largren are after him!"

      "There he goes down! Conkey has the leather!"

      This was true, but ere Conkey could start to run Fred Garrison brought him to earth and the ball rolled out into the field.

      Sam and a Pornell halfback made a rush for it.

      "My ball!" yelled the Pornellite, who was twenty pounds heavier than the little captain.

      "Not to-day!" retorted Sam, and snatched it from under his very feet. Before the Pornellite could recover from his astonishment, Sam was pelting up the field with all the nimbleness of his agile legs.

      "Hurrah for Sam Rover!"

      "Great Cæsar! see him leg it!"

      "They can't catch him!"

      "There he goes over the line!"

      "A touchdown! The game is a tie!"

      "Quick, fellows!" cried Sam. "Only five more minutes, remember. Who is to kick?"

      It was a player named Larcom. But Larcom was not equal to it, for the wind was rising and blowing in several directions at once.

      "No goal! The game is a tie!"

      "Put the ball out again!"

      "Only four minutes to play!"

      Again the football went forth, and again the crowd pounced upon it. The Pornellites were now desperate and massed themselves as never before. They pushed forward ten yards — fifteen — twenty — almost thirty. It looked as if they would score another touchdown, if not kick a goal.

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