"He is down." No! a long stagger, but the danger
is past. That was the shock of Crew, the most dangerous of dodgers. And
now he is close to the School goal, the ball not three yards before
him. There is a hurried rush of the School fags to the spot, but no
one throws himself on the ball, the only chance, and young Brooke has
touched it right under the School goal-posts.
The School leaders come up furious, and administer toco to the wretched
fags nearest at hand. They may well be angry, for it is all Lombard
Street to a china orange that the School-house kick a goal with the ball
touched in such a good place. Old Brooke, of course, will kick it
out, but who shall catch and place it? Call Crab Jones. Here he comes,
sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, the queerest, coolest fish
in Rugby. If he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would just
pick himself up without taking his hands out of his pockets or turning
a hair. But it is a moment when the boldest charger's heart beats quick.
Old Brooke stands with the ball under his arm motioning the School back;
he will not kick out till they are all in goal, behind the posts. They
are all edging forwards, inch by inch, to get nearer for the rush at
Crab Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to catch the ball.
If they can reach and destroy him before he catches, the danger is over;
and with one and the same rush they will carry it right away to the
School-house goal.
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