Their cheers were given with a will and encouraged their gallant warriors to renewed and ever more desperate defense.

The score-board proclaimed the game almost done.

With six minutes left it only remained, as it seemed, for Yates to hold the plunging crimson once more at the last ditch to keep the game a tie, and so win what would, under the circumstances, have been as good as a victory.
Down came the Harwell line once more to the twenty yards, but here they stopped.

For on a pass from quarter to left half, the latter, one Joel March of our acquaintance, fumbled the ball, dived quickly after it, and landed on the Yates left guard, who had plunged through and now lay with the pigskin safe beneath him! It is difficult to either describe or appreciate the full depth of Joel's agony as he picked himself up and limped back to his place.

It was a heart-tearing, blinding sensation that left him weak and limp.