One Cobber man wheeled and would have grabbed the little right end, but there was where Frank Thompson played for all there was in him.

He pitched forward, falling headlong, and Smith, of Cobber, fell over him.
It was a sprint, now! For an instant the field close to Stearns was clear of opposition.
Wild cheering broke loose.

Dick Prescott fairly danced for joy.
Ah! Here came some of the belated Cobber men, supporting their fullback.
There was a heavy crash.

Stearns, caught in the midst of the mixup, went down, but he covered the pigskin! Then the linesman hurried up.

The news was so good that it flew from mouth to mouth along the east side boards: "Forty-two yards!" Cobber's captain gasped.