He was quickly stopped, however, and after a desperate encounter the ball got free and rolled out of the crush towards where Charlie stood.
He, not waiting to pick it up, went at it with a flying kick.

Up flew the ball, amid cheers and shouts, right over the heads of the players, and had it not been for the promptitude of the Cambridge "backs" it might have got behind their goal.

And now, as if every one knew the time was getting short, the play became harder than ever.

Many a time did I catch sight of my two Randlebury friends in the thick of the fight, sometimes hand to hand, sometimes separated by a living wall of humanity, but always doing their work, and straining for the one object.
The time went on.

The man who held me looked at me now oftener than he had done hitherto; and presently, when I pointed to five minutes to four, he cried out to a player near him, "Five minutes more." That player was Charlie Newcome, and I saw his face flush as of old, and knew he at any rate intended to make the most of the brief time remaining.
But two of the minutes were gone before his chance came.