"He's mad because he made such a bull of
his play in the other half. If he tries tricks with me--"
"If he does, let him alone, if you want to stay on the team," said Joel.
"That sort of thing doesn't help. Watch your chance and spoil a play of
his. That's the best way to get even."
The next ten minutes were spent in desperate attack on the part of the
first and an equally desperate defense by the second eleven. Twenty
yards of gain for the former was the result, and the half was nearly up.
On a first down Blair ran back and Joel, whispering "Kick!" to himself,
turned and raced farther back from the line. Then the ball was snapped,
there was a crossing of backs, and suddenly, far out around the right
end came Cloud with the pigskin tightly clutched, guarded by Post and
the left end. It was an unexpected play, and the second's halfs saw it
too late. Meach and Wills were shouldered out of the way, and Cloud ran
free from his interference and bore down on Joel, looking very big
and ugly.
It was Cloud's opportunity to redeem himself, and with only a green
full-back between him and the goal line his chances looked bright
indeed. But he was reckoning without his host. Joel started gingerly up
to meet him. The field was streaming down on Cloud's heels, but too far
away to be in the running. Ten yards distant from Joel, Cloud's right
arm stretched out to ward off a tackle, and his face grew ugly.
"Keep off!" he hissed as Joel prepared for a tackle. But Joel had no
mind for keeping off; that cut in his head was aching like everything,
and his own advice to Wills occurred to him and made him grin.
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