Holworthy Hall

“ Prichard, with Blanding in his heart, skirted the flank on a trick of Blanding's devising for twenty yards more; and Jordan, coached day by day in spite of Prince's remonstrances, kicked a neat field goal. That made it ten to nothing, and when the whistle blew, the insane horde that poured out of the Harvard stands made first for the three backs, and for a man who, on account of his tortoise-rimmed glasses, looked more like a professor of archæology than a trainer of men. ”

“ The young man Jordan, whose plastic imagination had been kneaded and fed and coached for three solid weeks into a half-serious, half-childish belief that he actually was a pocket edition of Bull Blanding, sprinted around left end in the manner of a small cyclone, squirmed away from one tackle, repelled another with a straight-arm jab, and was driven out of bounds, fighting every step of the way, on the thirty-five-yard line. ”

“ That time it was Prichard, who was supposed to lack nerve. In his haste, he fumbled—and a brawny guard was bearing threateningly down on him. Instinct said to fall on the ball, to take the loss of distance and play safe: but an icy reflex at the back of his head warned him with startling distinctness to use his wits. He jumped aside, avoiding the guard by inches; he had the ball, and he sent it in a long overhand spiral to an end waiting on Yale's twenty-yard line.
The west stand was a crazy, reeling mob, drunk with the ecstasy of a victory five doleful years in the making ”