Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 79: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE POOR FISH. ping from the bunch of cripples blanketed alongside of me. They had given everything they had, and that only for defeat. That’s what hurt. You could see the hopeless look in their eyes. They knew, like I did, that even Halibut Haines couldn’t get a score in that wind. Benton kicked off; Fisher signaled for a fair catch, and then Harvard started to stall. They ran the ball to our forty yard line, and it was nothing but slaughter on every play. Bang! They’d hit the line, and it would crumble like an eggshell. i was cursing. Oh, for a Hastings to bust up those plays, or a Mullings to grab the ball and go through that bunch like the eel he was. They got to the thirty-five yard line. A minute to go. They’d score again. You could hear the drone of numbers. The ball was snapped, there was a crash, and—they had fumbled! I was on my feet like a shot, hollering like a fool. The wind bounced the ball crazily to- ward the side lines. Figures dived funny like for it. Who’d get it? The blood was pounding to my ears. Suddenly some one scooped it up and darted off. Who was it? Hurray! Benton. Down the field he raced, darting in and out as players dived for him. Would he get clear? J shook my clenched fists, prayed, cursed, and then suddenly sat down with a thud. He had been tackled on the fifty yard line. “Oh, God!” moaned Blaisdell. God! I thought he’d get through.” Sweat was dropping off my face. I looked at my watch. Fifty-four seconds to eo. I jumped up and yelled for Halibut Haines—our only chance. “ Halibut,” I says—‘‘ Halibut; God, boy, where are you?” Maloney had me by the arms. He’s out there!” he screamed. I looked. Benton was limping in, and Haines, with his sweater off and hair touseled was screaming at the line man, patting the center on the back, and then as he stepped back on the sixty yard line to try a kick against a wind that was im- possible to buck, I saw him turn, face the little group of Centerville folks looking so small and lonely in the stands, and then “ Oh, c¢ my 869 hold his clenched fists over his head. It was like a man appealing for power. A second later he turned, stood tense while everybody on that darkening field and those shadowy stands sat as if petrified, and then signaled for the ball. ‘There was a thud, a jumbled mess, and the ball rolled on the ground. Our last chance, and a fumbled pass. I saw a strange, sort of surprised and hurt look come over Haines’s face, ail in the flash of a second. He stooped, scooped up the bali, made as if to set himself for a kick, then, seeing gray bulks and pawing hands coming toward him with the speed of wind, darted to one side and was off. I grabbed Blaisdell, jumped on the bench and leaned forward. My nails dug into my hands. Beside me stood every player crouched forward, throttled stiff in dumb agony. “Thirty-one seconds!” shouted some one. A tackler lunged at Halibut and rebound- ed as if shot from a gun. “A stiff arm!” screamed Blaisdell. ‘“‘ My God—hbeautiful!”’ Another lunged, half caught on, but was shook off. Past the forty yard line Halibut ran with the speed of a deer, five Harvard men trailing him. One dived and missed. Suddenly a man sweeping crosswise leaped for Halibut’s neck. The boy stopped short, turned like a rabbit, went sideways and then straight ahead—Miullings’s stuff to a T. The tackler missed by a yard and slid out of sight in the darkness. There was only one man between Halibut and the goal line, Burrill the quarterback. Would he stop him? J was screaming it. Some- body was shouting at my left ear and bang- ing me on the back. “Tf he’ll only get by!” I moaned. he'll only get by!” The stands looked ghostly. The field was being blotted out by darxk- ness. “ He’s done tt!” Blaisdell screamed it. Halibut had crashed over Burrill, leaped his form and swept behind the goal posts, touched the ball to the ground, and as he straightened and looked off toward the murk that had COMmMicoookSs.E© a9 If nn