Somehow Berley had secured a place directly behind the rail in the first tier of seats. Every time Red stole a glance at her he found her sitting there, sober-faced, tense, expectant. She did not leap and scream as others did. She did not join in the shouting.
“I’d almost say she was praying,” Red told himself. “Wonder if any one ever prayed at a football game?”
Surely if ever there was occasion for sober thoughts over a ball game, this was the time. A thousand, five thousand, perhaps ten thousand foolish men had been tricked into gambling on what they believed to be a sure thing.
“We don’t care for them,” Drew Lane had said. “If they were the only ones to suffer they should lose. But if they _do_ lose, their families will suffer; women and children. So Red, you must fight! Fight! _Fight!_”
He _had_ fought. But all in vain. Somehow he could not get into the game. The very weight of responsibility seemed to crush the spirit out of him.
Then, four minutes before the end, a strange thing happened. He was beyond the center of the field on the enemy’s territory. There was “time out.” He heard a thin voice calling. It was Berley Todd.
“Red,” she whispered hoarsely as he came near, “why don’t you try the Flea Flicker?” Then she smiled. It was her first smile that day.
There was something about that smile that lifted the heavy burden from Red’s shoulders.
He had described the play to her while on one of their wild boat rides before the island.
“The Flea Flicker. Four minutes to play. Why not? Why not forget all but the game? Play for the mere sport of it? Football is sport, not business. The Flea Flicker, that’s it!”
He joined his team in a huddle. “The Flea Flicker” was whispered from man to man. A ripple of mirth passed over the weary fighters.
Old Midway had the ball. It was the fourth down. Four minutes to play. If they lost the ball they might never regain it. This play was a complicated one. What did it matter? Win or lose; the Flea Flicker.
Signals were called. Masters, the fullback, dropped to the rear in position for a place kick. Red sank to his knee as if to receive the ball.
The play was on. The ball was snapped, not to Red but to Masters. Northern players charged. Dwyer, the right half, ignoring his man, stood up, facing Masters. Red ran wide to the right. Masters pitched the ball to Dwyer. Dwyer tossed it to Red and he was away.