# The Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron/Chapter 23
#### CHAPTER XXIII
##### WON BY FOUR INCHES

"See 'em getting Hail Columbia from their coach because they made that fool play! Next time it'll be different," growled the unhappy Bellport backer.
"I hope so," replied the cheerful and optimistic Buster, composedly.
Frank, as he came in from the field, dusty and disheveled, looked eagerly at a certain part of the grandstand where Helen sat alongside her chum Minnie. Immiediately both girls waved their flags at him, and called out something, which, of course, was utterly drowned in the furious shouting that arose.
But Frank would ten times rather have heard what they said than to listen to the cheers of the multitude; for he knew that love and friendship endure, while the admiration of the crowd is as fickle as the weather, praising one day and on the next condemning.
Both teams held earnest consultations during the ​interval between the halves of the game. New plays were planned whereby advantage might be taken of some supposed weak spot in the line of the enemy's defense. And singular to say, not a single change had as yet been made in the line-up, something remarkable indeed, when in other days half a dozen casualties must have resulted from those furious clashes. Doubtless there were those who suffered in silence, fearing lest they be taken out, if their real condition were made known; and every man was wild to finish in what promised to be the most exciting football game that had ever happened in the tri-school league.
"There they go to take position. Now for another heart-breaking period of suspense. But they've got the advantage. It's an up-hill fight for Bellport; six to nothing, and half the time gone. If they can only keep the others from scoring it isn't necessary to make any more," said Buster to Jack Eastwick.
"No chance for me to get into this game. That Shay is a sticker. But I candidly admit he's something of an improvement on myself, and I hope he holds out. But mark me, Buster, there's going to be some changes before the game ends," remarked the other, confidentially.
"What makes you say that, Jack?" asked his friend, curiously.
​"Because those Bellport bulldogs have got blood in their eyes now. The coach has been combing them down, and they're just bound to carry things before them, or die trying. It's going to be hotter than ever, Buster."
"But Frank has been saying things, too. And our boys have the benefit of the experience of one who was a terror on the lines of Princeton, my especial friend. Coach Willoughby," remarked Buster, proudly. "He's set 'em up a few capers that are going to surprise our good Bellport friends. I'm game to stack up on Columbia. I only hope some of those Bellport players like Bardwell and Banghardt don't try foul tactics on us, like they did in baseball, that's all."
"The referee has his eye on 'em. He has been warned, and let them try it at their peril. If those two dangerous half-backs are put off the team it'll go to pieces in a hurry, mark my words. That's what I'm expecting it to end in."
But Jack was mistaken. Bellport knew the folly of attempting anything that had a suspicious look. Brawn and strategy and agility must carry the day, no matter which side won.
Shrilly blew the whistle, and once more the ball, yellow no longer, for it had been ground into the dirt, sailed through the air. There was an exchange of punts that ended when Bellport held the pigskin ​on her forty-yard line and the signal came for a play around Columbia's left end.
"Watch out now, fellows!" warned Frank Allen. "Don't let 'em get through, or past you."
"Eighteen—twenty-seven—sixty—all together—fourteen!" chanted Snodgrass, and back the ball was snapped to him. In a flash he passed it to Bardwell, who started as though to circle Shadduck at right end. And then that trick, so often worked, so effective when it comes out right, and so futile when it does not, was tried. Bardwell passed the ball to Banghardt on the run, and the left-half started for the end where Morris was.
How it happened none of the Columbia players, not even Morris himself, could tell, but he was drawn in hy the double pass and his end was free to be circled by Banghardt. Even the Columbia two halfbacks were fooled, and no excuse for it, either, as they admitted afterward, for they had often worked the play themselves. Be that as it may, Banghardt was past, and with no one between him and the goal line but Comfort.
But the full-back was a tower of strength, and with eagerly outstretched hands he waited the oncoming of the left half.
"Get him. Comfort! Get him!" pleaded the crowd.
Straight at the full-back came Banghardt, and ​then, with a sudden shifting, he turned aside, and Comfort grasped only the empty air, while the man with the ball, amid the wild, excited cries of the adherents of his school, while the grandstands fairly rocked under the impact of thousands of stamping feet, touched down the pigskin.
"Touchdown! Touchdown for Bellport!" howled the enthusiasts, while the dazed Columbia team crawled out of the scrimmage and wondered how it had happened. So, too, did some of the Bellport players themselves wonder, for the play had come like a flash from a clear sky.
The goal was easily kicked, tying the score, and then the big crowd sat up and wondered what would come next.
"It's going to be a hot game all right!" was the general verdict.
"Here's where we beat you, Columbia!" called a Bellport supporter, as he turned to Buster with a grin on his face. "Oh we've got you In a hole dead sure. We've got your number."
"Oh, have you!" retorted Buster. "Wait. Don't count your chickens until they're out of the woods."
After the kick-off there followed some line smashing tactics on both sides. Once Bellport was penalized for off-side play, and once Columbia lost the ball for holding in the line. Bellport was later penalized ten yards for a second offense in off-side work, ​and then the players seemed to realize the importance of being careful, and they go down to business.
How they ever stood the smashing, banging tactics, the fierce tackling, the eager runs, the line bucking, the giving and taking, only one who has played football, and who knows the fierce joy of the gam.e, can understand. Nervous women cried out in alarm as they saw the struggling mass and heap of boyish humanity. There were several times when the play had to be stopped to allow the dashing of cold water over some unlucky chap, to bring him out of a half faint, and the number of lads who lost their wind, and had to have it pumped into them by artificial respiration was many.
But no one was seriously hurt, though Coddling had to leave the field because of a broken finger and Harper was replaced at the Columbia right guard because he was so disabled from a fierce piling-on of players that he was useless in the line.
Ten minutes more to play, and the score tied! Back and forth the players had surged, up and down the field, now kicking, now plunging into each other's line, now circling the ends. It was the most fiercely contested game that had ever been played in the league. The Columbia-Clifford contest was as nothing to it.
​"Hold 'em, Tigers! Don't let 'em score again! Rip out another touchdown! Go at 'em!"
How the cohorts of Columbia begged and pleaded! No less did the friends of Bellport.
A touchdown, a field goal, or a safety for either side now would win the game and the championship. Which would it be? To which side would it go. A thousand admirers of either team asked those questions.
Bellport had the ball, and had, by a smashing rush, carried it three yards through Columbia's line. It was on the latter's forty-yard line now, but it had been there before, and had not advanced much farther. That last attack, though, had had power behind it.
"Look out!" warned Frank. "They may do us!"
The play looked to be another rush on the part of Bellport, and with fierce and eager eyes her opponents watched for the slightest advantage. Bardwell came on with the ball like a stone from a catapult. He hit the line between Shay and Daly, but he did not go through. With desperate energy, borne of despair, the guard and tackle held.
And then, wonder of wonders, probably because he was dazed by the impact with which he hit the line, Bardwell dropped the ball. Like a flash Daly had fallen on it.
"Our ball!" he fairly howled, and when the crowd ​knew that they went wild—that is, the Columbia contingent.
But the time had slipped by. There were but three minutes more of play.
"Quick now, fellows. Line up! Get a touchdown!" begged Frank. "Break the tie!"
Into the play plunged the doughty captain himself for a ten-yard gain, for the shock of surprise at their misfortune still held the Bellport players spellbound.
"Another like that!" cried the throng.
A fake kick netted eight yards additional, and then followed more line bucking.
"A goal from the field," suggested Wallace, when time was taken out to allow Alpers to get back his wind.
"No, straight up the field—rush it!" ordered Allen.
Once more he made a slight gain.
"One minute more!" warned the time-keeper.
"Oh, can we do it!" panted Wallace.
He called on Ralph West for a straight plunge between guard and tackle. The plucky left-hal£ drew a long breath, and gathered himself for the tremendous energy he knew would be needed. They were but four feet from the goal line. The ball must be shoved over if human lungs and muscles could stand the teriffic strain a moment longer.
​Amid a solemn silence came the signal. Like a shot West plunged forward, with the ball tightly tucked under his arm.
Into the line he went, smash bang! Oh, what a great hole there was torn for him by the strenuous Shay and Daly! Through it West went, and in vain did Lee and Bardwell try to stop him. As well try to stop a rushing torrent as the Columbia players now. They were going to have that touchdown or tear up the goal posts.
With the quickness that argued how well he knew the need of haste, West placed the ball down beyond and over his head after he had fallen in a fierce tackle. Over the line—over—ah, was it over? The chalk-mark was obliterated at this point. Was it over?
"Touchdown!" howled the Columbia players madly.
"Never. It's not over!" retorted Bellport's men fiercely.
There was a wild dispute, and in the midst of it the whistle blew, ending the game.
Who had won? It would take a measurement to decide. The linesmen came hurrying up, while the crowd chaffed at the delay and did not know who to cheer.
Anxiously the measure was taken, and while hearts wildly beat the announcement was made.
​"The ball is over by four inches. Columbia wins the touchdown!"
"Oh, wow!"
"Hurrah!"
"We win!"
"Eleven to six!"
"The silver cup is ours!"
And then such a riot of wild cries, such stamping of feet, such waving of banners and streamers of ribbon! The great championship game was won by Columbia! Columbia!
"Columbia! Columbia the Gem of the Gridiron!" came the eager shouts. And the players filed off the field.