There is a last upheaval, the maul is split in two, and through the rent come the redoubtable Scotch forwards with the ball amongst them.

Their solid phalanx has scattered the English like spray to right and left.

There is no one in front of them, no one but a single little man, almost a boy in size and weight.
Surely he cannot hope to stop the tremendous rush.

The ball is a few yards in advance of the leading Scot when he springs forward at it.
He seizes it an instant before his adversary, and with the same motion writhes himself free from the man's grasp.

Now is the time for the crack Cambridge quarter-back to show what he is made of.