The crowd yell with excitement.

To right and left run the great Scotch forwards, grasping, slipping, pursuing, and right in the midst of them, as quick and as erratic as a trout in a pool, runs the calm-faced little man, dodging one, avoiding another, slipping between the fingers of two others.

Surely he is caught now.

No, he has passed all the forwards and emerges from the ruck of men, pelting along at a tremendous pace.
He has dodged one of the Scotch quarters, and outstripped the other.
"Well played, England!" shout the crowd.

"Well run, Buller!" "Now, Tookey!" "Now, Dimsdale!" "Well collared, Dimsdale; well collared, indeed!" The little quarter-back had come to an end of his career, for Tom had been as quick as he and had caught him round the waist as he attempted to pass, and brought him to the ground.
The cheers were hearty, for the two half-backs were the only University men in the team, and there were hundreds of students among the spectators.