Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale Part 59

"I's done got mah pay fo' bringin' it," he chuckled, as he scudded off.

The note reached Merriwell when he had finished talking with Forrest. He took it in surprise, and then opened it hastily. A gasp came from his lips when he saw the writing.

"From Inza!" he whispered.

This is what he read:

"DEAR FRANK: Did not receive your letter till this morning. Too late then to answer. Had left New Haven for Boston before I read it. You asked me to release you from your promise not to play football. No, I will not! You must not play! If you do, I'll never speak to you again! I know Yale will win if you play! You must not play! Hastily,

"INZA."

"Line up!"

The game was about to begin!

Frank tore the note into many pieces, and those pieces he tossed aside.

His face was stern and determined.

"It's for old Yale--dear old Yale!" he muttered. "She has no right to ask so much of me without giving me a reason for it. I must play--I will play!"

Out to positions went the two teams. They lined up for business, and a great hush came over the mighty jam of spectators.

Yale had the first kick-off, and Merriwell balanced himself for it.

Pung!--away sailed the ball clean through Harvard's goal posts, causing the uninitiated to tremble, as it was an exquisite exhibition of kicking.

But this kick really gave Yale no advantage, for the rule gives the ball to the opponents on such a play.

Harvard's full-back sent it spinning back into the center of the field.

It looked like another kick by Merriwell, but, instead of that, Yale tried Mills, the right-half, who could make only two yards against Harvard's heavy forwards.

The game was on in all its fury, and the excitement was intense. Kick followed kick in quick succession, but that style of play did not seem to gain anything worth gaining for either side.

Yale got the ball and tried the revolving wedge on Harvard. They could not make a big gain, for the Cambridge lads were like a stone wall.

Again and again was this style of play tried, till Harvard got the ball on downs.

Then came Harvard's turn to see what she could do, and the first attempt was a try at the tandem play, made famous by Pennsylvania.

Yale seemed ready enough for that, and the way she cut through and broke Harvard's line showed immediately that the tandem was not likely to prove very effective.

Then Harvard called on Benjamin, her right-half, and a moment later the rush line did a fine piece of work, opening Yale's center and letting the little fellow through.

Benjamin had the speed of the wind. He also had the ball. Away he went with it, and there was a clear field before him.

Harvard admirers roared from all over the field. The crimson flaunted everywhere.

It looked like a sure touchdown for Harvard. Every Yale spectator held his breath in racking suspense.

Benjamin was flying over the ground. It seemed that his feet scarcely touched the turf.

Where is Yale now? What chance has she to stop the little fellow with wings on his feet?

Three seconds of suspense seemed like three hours of torture. It was awful!

A Yale man was after little Benjamin--was gaining! Could he stop the little fellow in time? It must be a tackle from behind, if at all, and the slightest slip would bring failure.

Behind them came all the others on the run, strung out raggedly.

Benjamin would make it--he was sure to make it. His pursuer could not reach him in time.

Then it seemed that the Yale man had springs in his legs, for he sailed over the ground like a frightened rabbit. He closed in on Benjamin and flung himself headlong at the little fellow.

Down slipped the tackler's hands, down from the hips to the knees, to the ankles. Down went Benjamin with a hard thump, stopped within three yards of Yale's line.

Twenty men piled upon tackler and tackled.

Deep down beneath that ma.s.s was Frank Merriwell, his hands clinging like hooks to Benjamin's ankles.

He had stopped what seemed to be a sure touchdown for Harvard at that early stage of the game.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

WON BACK.

Beside Inza Burrage, in a splendid position to watch the game, sat a pretty girl with fluffy hair. She wore Harvard's colors, and seemed greatly excited.

"There he is!" she exclaimed, at various stages of the game--"there is Jack! See him, Inza!"

"Yes," said Inza, "I see him."

But her eyes were not on the one meant by her companion. She was watching Frank Merriwell, and she bit her lip as she watched.

She had seen him receive her note, she had seen him read it, tear it in pieces, cast the pieces aside.

"He will play!" she muttered. "He will break his promise to me!"

Her companion heard her words.

"You said Merriwell would not go into the game," she cried.

"Yes, I said so, but I was wrong. He gave me his promise not to play, and last night he sent me a letter asking to be released from that pledge. The note I sent to him a short time ago was a reminder of his promise, and a refusal to release him."

"Yet he will play?"