Page:The Winning Touchdown.djvu/55



was a crisping tang in the air. The wind had in it just the hint of winter, but the sun shone bravely down and glinted on the green grass of the football field a field—marked off in white lines, so meaningless to one not familiar with the game, yet so full of meaning to a player.

Soon what a struggle there would be to cross those same white lines—especially the last, whereon were the goal posts, and to gain which every last ounce of strength, every atom of breath, every nerve and sinew that could be urged to lend speed to the runner would be called upon to do the utmost that the ball might be shoved over for a touchdown.

Now, however, the gridiron of Randall College lay peaceful and quiet under the October sun. The grass seemed to shiver in the breeze, as if in anticipation of the struggles it would soon have to bear.

The silent grandstands were but waiting the cheering, yelling, singing, sport-maddened and