Just a second before the ball itself started, little Fenton had
put himself in motion. By the time that the ball was in the air
Fenton was past Hallam's line and scorching down the field.
Now Forsythe and every Hallam man comprehended all in a flash.
Fenton had caught the ball with a nicety that brought wild whoops
from the Gridley boosters, now standing on their seats and waving
the Gridley colors.
"That little fellow looks like a streak of light," yelled one
Gridley booster.
The description wasn't a bad one. Fenton was doing some of the
finest sprinting conceivable. Before him nothing menaced but
big Harlowe, Hallam's fullback. Harlowe, however, was hurling
himself straight in the impetuous way of little Fenton.
It looked like a bump. There could be but one result. Fenton
would have to go down to save the ball.
Harlowe reached out to tackle.
Fenton came to a quivering stop, just out of reach. Then, almost
instantly, the little left end dashed straight forward again.
But the move had been enough to fool Harlowe. Of course, he assumed
that Fenton would spring to one side. Harlowe imagined that it
would be a dodge to the left, and Harlowe leaped there to tackle
his man.
But Fenton, actually going straight ahead, fooled the calculation
of his powerful adversary and got past on the clever trick.
Harlowe dashed after his sly opponent. But Fenton, still almost
with his first big breath in his lungs, was running as fast as
ever.
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