But the stop to the Hillbury advance was only temporary. Three yards were gained through Bent, and on a second trial three yards more. They had “found” Bent. Laughlin tore off his head-guard and flung it far away to the side-lines, hoping to see better where to strike. He played still farther out to support the weak side. Again the Hillbury charge went crashing through the Seaton tackle. When the players extricated themselves from the mêlée, one big form still lay outstretched upon the ground. It was Laughlin!
The trainers came hurrying in with water-pail and sponge and liniment. The fallen man was got upon his feet, his face mopped, his condition eagerly inquired for. A bruise at the edge of his hair above his eye showed the mark of a heavy boot.
“A little,” responded the player; “but it doesn’t amount to anything. I can go back now.”
“You’d better take your head-guard again,” urged the trainer.
But Laughlin tore himself away from the solicitous group. “I’m all right,” he declared savagely. “Play the game!”
The lines formed again amid tremendous applause from the Seaton side, as the injured man went bravely back into the fray.
The Hillbury quarter, shrewdly guessing on the probabilities, drove his heaviest back against the Seaton captain. For the first time in the game a hole was found at right guard, and when Milliken and Buist stemmed the charge, the ball lay six yards down the field. The next attack was at Bent, the third through Laughlin. The fourth in the same place stretched the Seaton captain again upon the ground.
“Dave, you’re hurt! You oughtn’t to go on,” pleaded Wolcott, taking Laughlin’s head in his lap. The captain’s eyes moved uncertainly; he seemed suddenly stripped of his strength. In a moment, however, the old spirit returned, and he rose determined.
“I’m all right,” he insisted. “I’m all right; play the game!”
Laughlin was the captain; his orders were not to be questioned.
A plunge at the Seaton left was squarely met, another on the right penetrated five yards. Laughlin was down again. Time was called, and Collins came running in with his water-pail.
“Tell him to go off,” urged Wolcott. “He doesn’t know what he’s about. It’s cruel to let him stay here!”
The trainer shrugged his shoulders; he was not master on the field. Laughlin lifted himself unsteadily to his feet. The applause on the Seaton side had ceased; instead, ominous shouts of “Take him out! take him out!” were heard along the bank of crimson and gray.