Fast and far the ball sailed into the scrub field, which proved that the back's feet were not nervous, no matter if his hands and arms had been a trifle unsteady.
"Bully!" muttered Frank, and scrawled another notation.
The scrubs, going up against the regulars' defense, found it impossible to make any decisive gains.

Vigor and rocklike endurance marked the clashes, and both regulars and scrubs had to punt and punt again.

Fake plays were riddled by swift and sagacious end rushes, for one side or the other, hurling attacks against the center were crushed and flung back; and, more and more as the battle raged, it became evident that the regular eleven, while good, were no whit better than the scrubs.
The fight in the first half was carried into the last minute of the play.

The whistle separated the combatants, and neither side had scored.
During the interval that followed Ballard sought to tell his dream, Merriwell and Clancy, however, were in close and earnest conversation regarding the players and had no time for anything not connected with the game.
"With material like that to choose from, Chip," said Clancy, "it ought not to be much of a trick to select an eleven that would put it all over Gold Hill." "From all I can hear, Clan," Merry answered, "the Gold Hill bunch is a fast one.

I don't know what we can do.