Is
there no one to meet him? Yes; look at little East! The ball is just at
equal distances between the two, and they rush together, the young man
of seventeen and the boy of twelve, and kick it at the same moment. Crew
passes on without a stagger; East is hurled forward by the shock, and
plunges on his shoulder, as if he would bury himself in the ground;
but the ball rises straight into the air, and falls behind Crew's back,
while the "bravoes" of the School-house attest the pluckiest charge of
all that hard-fought day. Warner picks East up lame and half stunned,
and he hobbles back into goal, conscious of having played the man.
And now the last minutes are come, and the School gather for their last
rush, every boy of the hundred and twenty who has a run left in him.
Reckless of the defence of their own goal, on they come across the level
big-side ground, the ball well down amongst them, straight for our goal,
like the column of the Old Guard up the slope at Waterloo. All former
charges have been child's play to this. Warner and Hedge have met them,
but still on they come. The bull-dogs rush in for the last time; they
are hurled over or carried back, striving hand, foot, and eyelids. Old
Brooke comes sweeping round the skirts of the play, and turning short
round, picks out the very heart of the scrummage, and plunges in. It
wavers for a moment; he has the ball.
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