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 And now backwards and forwards, gaining what was lost and losing what was gained, they fought it out. The .steam rose from their soaking backs, and lips grew dry and cottony, but the ball stayed in the centre of the field.

Occasionally there were anxious, nervous moments when time was being taken out and a figure, for the instant limp or struggling, lay on the ground, surrounded by a bending crowd (prominent among which were a young man with a bag, and an eager individual with a dirty, soppy sponge); then a swaying, dizzy player, lurching into line again, a cheer from all around, or a substitute dashing up to fill a vacant place, set things agoing. A minute more to play! Slowly the ball went down toward the eastern goal. Thirty seconds more! Fifteen yards more to gain! Would they kick, or try for it? A rush, a smash! Five yards! A kick this time! Elliott skips backward. The centre places his scratched fingers on the ball. Not a sound from the grand stand. A spring forward, confusion for an instant, and in the midst of it the sharp blowing of the umpire's whistle, and the world went crazy!

The first half was over—the result "no score."