Foster was waving his hand entreatingly toward the seats, begging for a chance to make his signals heard.

From across the field, in the sudden comparative stillness of the north stand, thundered the confident slogan of Robinson.

The brown-stockinged captain and quarter-back was shouting incessantly: "Steady now, fellows! Break through! Break through! Smash 'em up!" He ran from one end to the other, thumping each encouragingly on the back, whispering threats and entreaties into their ears.

"Now, then, Robinson, let's stop 'em right here!" Foster, red-faced and hoarse, leaned forward, patted Stowell on the thigh, caught the ball, passed it quickly to Mason as that youth plunged for the line, and then threw himself into the breach, pushing, heaving, fighting for every inch that gave under his torn and scuffled shoes.
"Second down; four to gain!" Robinson was awake now to her danger.

Foster saw the futility of further attempts at the line for the present and called for a run around left end.