Although there might be changes at any time during the progress of a fiercely contested game, the line-up at the start was as follows:
COLUMBIA.
Comfort.
F.B.
Allen, Captain. West.
R.H.B. L.H.B.
Wallace.
Q.B.
Shadduck. Oakes. Harper. Bird. Daly. Eastwick. Morris.
R.E. R.T. R.G. Center. L.G. L.T. L.E.
CLIFFORD.
Evans. McQuirk. Roe. Gentle. Ross. Adkins. Smith.
L.E. L.T. L.G. Center. R.G. R.T. R.E.
Style.
Q.B.
Coots. Wentworth.
L.H.B. R.H.B.
Hastings, Captain.
F.B.
Clifford was to kick off.
Hastings, the big captain, stood there, poising himself for the effort, and every eye was glued upon his really fine figure. Hastings knew it, and purposely lingered just a trifle longer than he would have done had there been no mass of spectators hedging in the field on all sides in a solid bank of humanity.
There was a shrill whistle, the referee's signal, and it called into life the twenty-two motionless figures that stood about the field. Big Hastings ran forward, glancing sharply about to see that his men were on the alert, and the next moment his shoe made a great dent in the side of the new yellow ball. Away it sailed into the air, far over toward Columbia's territory.
Straight toward Lanky Wallace, the plucky little quarter-back, it came, and Wallace was right under it. Into his arms, with a resounding "pung!" the spheroid landed, and, like a flash, the quarter passed it to Jack Comfort for a return kick.
Comfort's toe found the pigskin as if his shoe belonged there, and back through space went the twisting oval, in a long spiral curve, while the cohorts of both teams loosed the yells that had been long on tap.
"Oh, wow!"
"Pretty work!"
"That's the stuff, old man!"
"Fine footwork!"
These cries of encouragement to both sides were soon lost in the riot of cheers and appeals to the teams to "go in and win!"
Big Hastings once more had the ball, and booted down the field with a tremendous, smashing kick. Lanky and Oakes ran to get under it, with good intentions, but with misdirected energy, and collided forcefully, while the ball bounced from Lanky's shoulder and rolled along the ground, a prize for whoever could first get it.
"A miss!"
"By jove, our fellows have lost the ball!"
"Get to it, Columbia!"
Exclamations of dismay, and frantic appeals came from a thousand throats. Like mad the whole twenty-two players darted for the yellow spheroid.
There was a mixup, a confused mass of struggling forms, an indiscriminate whirlwind of waving arms and legs, and then, after the frantic blowing of the referee's whistle, and when, slowly, player after player crawled off the heap, Frank emerged, somewhat bruised and dazed, but with the precious ball tucked under his arm.
"Oh, good!"
"Fine, old man!"
"Columbia's ball!"
"Frank's got it, all right! That's the stuff. Did you see him slide right in front of Ross, their husky right guard, and cover it? Say, this is a little bit of all right—all right!" cried an enthusiastic follower of Columbia.
It was on Columbia's twenty-five yard line now, rather closer to the goal than Captain Frank liked, but he resolved to get right into the play now, and called for the line-up. There was a whispered conference between Wallace and Allen, and then the quarter began calling the signal, emphasizing the first number. A thrill seemed to run through the Clifford players, and when Paul Bird snapped back the ball to the captain, instead of to the quarter, who, all along, had acted as if he meant to take it, there was a sudden rush on the part of Clifford, but it was too late.
They had prepared for a play around their left end, but Frank quickly passed the pigskin to Ralph West, the left half, who sprang forward on the jump, and tore through a hole made between the unsuspecting right guard and tackle of Columbia's opponents. Through Ralph plowed, heaving and plunging his way, aided by a splendid interference, knocking aside Wentworth, the opposing right half, and struggling forward for a good gain.
"Oh, look at that, would you! Look! Look! He'll get a touchdown!"
"Touchdown nothing!" growled a disgusted Cliffordite, "What's the matter with our fellows, anyhow, to be fooled like that?"
"Guess they read our signals wrong!" retorted the admirer of Columbia High, with a chuckle.
"Oh, wow! Look at that! Hastings nailed him that time!"
Ralph had gone down under a fierce tackle by the big opposing captain, but the plucky left half had made a good gain, and, as he rose and held his hand on the ball until Bird came up to take it, there was an outburst of cheers that warmed his heart.
"Good work, old man!" whispered Frank, as he ran up. "We fooled 'em that time!"
Herman Hooker led his gallant band of shouters in an impromptu war-dance back of the grandstand, their frenzied shouts of joy at the splendid play sounding loud above the other yells.
Then came quiet, while the players again lined up, and the calling of the signals could plainly be heard across the gridiron. It was useless for Clifford to listen, if, perchance, she had sneakingly obtained a line on the play system of Columbia, for Lanky was using the changed code, and only he and his men knew it. Slowly he called off. It was an indication for Frank to take the ball, on a try around right end.
Back came the oval with a clean snap, and the next moment Frank, with it firmly tucked under his arm, was circling around Evans, while Oakes, Harper and Shadduck had gotten into play on the jump, and had successfully pocketed their opposing end tackle and guard.
Forward leaped Frank, with Shadduck and Oakes forming splendid interference for him. Down the line they sprinted, while once more the frenzied shouts broke forth:
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
"Go it, old man! Go it!"
It began to look as if Frank would score, for big Hastings was the only man available to tackle him, as the other two backs had played in so far that they were now hopelessly in the mixup of tangled figures.
"Go on! Go on!"
"Yes he will! Wait until Hastings tackles him!" this from a boastful Clifford player.
Hastings was waiting for the man with the ball, but Frank was running behind Shadduck and Oakes now, and they were on the alert. Hastings made a dive between them, seeking to come at Frank, and for one fearful moment there was fear in the hearts of his friends that the plucky right half would be downed. But Oakes fairly threw himself at the big opposing captain, and the two went tumbling in a heap, thus ending any chance Hastings had of tackling the man with the ball.
Amid such yells as were seldom heard on the gridiron, Frank, accompanied by Shadduck, whose interfering services were no longer needed, touched the ball down exactly in the middle of the line, behind the two posts, while the straggling Clifford players straggled madly down the field, but too late. Behind them came their leaping, dancing and exulting opponents.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
"Oh, you, Allen!"
"Great work, old man! Great work!" And indeed it was a splendid run.
Such shouting and yelling as there was! Herman Hooker and his band of "Indians" were hoarse with their efforts thus early in the game, but gallantly they kept at it. There was a little silence while the Clifford players lined up back of their goal posts, and then Ralph West kicked goal, the ball sailing true between the posts, and making the score six to nothing in favor of Columbia.
"That's the stuff! That's going some! Keep it up, you Columbia Tigers, we're all proud of you!" hoarsely called a big man, stamping about and waving his cane adorned with Columbia colors. He had graduated from the old school twenty years before, and he had never lost his love for it, nor for her sons of the gridiron.
There was an exchange of punts on the next kick-off, and when that sort of playing was over, Clifford had the pigskin on Columbia's thirty-yard line.
"Now, fellows, go through 'em!" grimly called Hastings, and Style began to give the signals in a snappy voice. In another instant Wentworth, the Clifford right half, hit the line with a tremendous smash, going for a hole between Eastwick and Daly. Their mates rallied to their support, but there was smashing energy in the attack of Columbia's opponents, and hold as Frank and his players desperately tried to, they were shoved back, and Wentworth had gained four yards.
"Another like that!" called Hastings. "Go to 'em, now! Eat 'em up!"
Once more a smashing attack, and three yards more were reeled off around Shadduck's end.
"This won't do, fellows!" said Allen, seriously. "We've got to hold 'em!"
"How's that? Guess we're going some now, eh?" demanded a Clifford admirer, who sat next to Mr. Allen.
"Yes, you have a good team," was the answer. "But our boys are only letting you do this for encouragement."
"Oh, ho! They are, eh? Just watch."
Indeed, it looked a little dubious for Columbia. Her players were being shoved back for loss with heart-stilling regularity. There was no need for Clifford to kick, and all of Frank's frantic appeals to his men to hold seemed of no avail.
There was somewhat of a bitter feeling when, after some tremendous line-smashing, Coots, the left half, was shoved over the line for a touchdown, and that gave the cohorts of Clifford a chance to break loose. They did not kick the goal, however, and that was some encouragement for Columbia, since it left them one point to the good.
Once more came the kick-off, and then, when Columbia had the ball, and had lined up, she went at her opponents with such smash-bang tactics, such hammer-and-tongs work, that she tore big gaps in the wall of defense, and shoved player after player through. Frank was sent over for a seven-yard gain, then came a fine run on the part of Ralph, netting eighteen yards, while the crowd went wild. There was grim silence on the part of the Clifford adherents as the line-up came on the ten-yard mark, and then, amid a great silence, Comfort smashed through for another touchdown.
"Oh, wow! How's that? Going some, I guess, yes!" howled the big man, who had been a player in his youth. "Oh, pretty work!"
The goal was missed, for the ball had been touched down at a bad angle, but the score was now eleven to five in favor of Columbia, and there were still several minutes of play left in the first half.
There was only a chance for an exchange of kicks however, ere the referee's whistle blew, signifying that time was up, and the players, who were just ready for a scrimmage, with the ball in Clifford's possession on her opponent's fifteen-yard line, dissolved, and raced for their dressing rooms.
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