and another goal was kicked. Then, five minutes later, came a goal from the field.
"Hurrah! That's the way to do it!" yelled a Lemington supporter.
"Fifteen to nothing!" cried another. "Thought Oak Hall knew how to play football!"
"They ought to play some primary school kids!"
"You shut up!" screamed Nat Poole, in sudden rage. "We know what we are doing!"
"You ought to be an ice-man,—you're slow enough," retorted the Lemingtonite, and this brought forth a laugh, and made Nat madder than ever.
Again the ball was placed in play, and this time Oak Hall did all it could to hold its own. But it was of no avail. Lemington carried the air of victory with it, and its confidence could not be withstood. Again the ball was shoved over the line for a touchdown, and again the goal was kicked, amid a cheering that was deafening.
"It's a slaughter!" murmured Roger.
"I am afraid so," answered Dave. "Too bad! I am sorry for the school!"
"So am I," said the senator's son, and Phil and Ben nodded gravely.
The last five minutes of the game only served to "rub it in," as Shadow expressed it, for Lemington scored again, this time, however, failing to
