For a long time the two bodies of men swayed backwards and forwards; in the University twenty-five Lawrence was performing wonders.

He seemed to be everywhere at once, bringing men down, seizing, in a lightning flash of time, his opportunity for relieving by kicking into touch.
Twice the ball went to the Dublin three-quarters and they seemed certainly in, but on the first occasion a man slipped and on the second Olva caught his three-quarter and brought him sharply to the ground.

It was the only piece of work that he had done.
More struggling--then away on the right some Dublin man had caught it and was running.

Some one dashed at him to hurl him into touch, but he slipped past and was in.
Another try--the kick was again successful--Dublin ten points.
The half-time whistle blew.

As the met gathered into groups in the middle of the field, sucking lemons and gathering additional melancholy there from, Olva stood a little away from them.