Old Brooke, of course, will kick it out, but who shall catch and place it?
Call Crab Jones.

Here he comes, sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, the queerest, coolest fish in Rugby.

If he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would just pick himself up without taking his hands out of his pockets or turning a hair.

But it is a moment when the boldest charger's heart beats quick.
Old Brooke stands with the ball under his arm motioning the School back; he will not kick out till they are all in goal, behind the posts.

They are all edging forwards, inch by inch, to get nearer for the rush at Crab Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to catch the ball.
If they can reach and destroy him before he catches, the danger is over; and with one and the same rush they will carry it right away to the School-house goal.