Fond hope! it is kicked out and caught beautifully.
Crab strikes his heel into the ground, to mark the spot where the ball
was caught, beyond which the school line may not advance; but there they
stand, five deep, ready to rush the moment the ball touches the ground.
Take plenty of room. Don't give the rush a chance of reaching you. Place
it true and steady. Trust Crab Jones. He has made a small hole with his
heel for the ball to lie on, by which he is resting on one knee, with
his eye on old Brooke. "Now!" Crab places the ball at the word, old
Brooke kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the School rush forward.
Then a moment's pause, while both sides look up at the spinning ball.
There it flies, straight between the two posts, some five feet above the
cross-bar, an unquestioned goal; and a shout of real, genuine joy rings
out from the School-house players-up, and a faint echo of it comes over
the close from the goal-keepers under the Doctor's wall. A goal in the
first hour--such a thing hasn't been done in the School-house match
these five years.
"Over!" is the cry. The two sides change goals, and the School-house
goal-keepers come threading their way across through the masses of
the School, the most openly triumphant of them--amongst whom is Tom, a
School-house boy of two hours' standing--getting their ears boxed in
the transit.
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