Like a cavalry charger who dashes on to the guns heedless of everything, and for the time being gone mad, so the Bolsover Cad, with the shouts behind him and the enemy's goal in front, saw and heard nothing else.

The two men who stepped out at him were brushed aside like reeds before a boat's keel; and with half the field before him only one enemy remained between him and victory.
That enemy was young Forrester! There was something almost terrible in the furious career of the big boy as he bore down on the fated goal.
Those behind ceased to pursue, and watched the result in breathless suspense.
Even the saucy light on Forrester's face faded as he hesitated a moment between fear and duty.
"Collar him there!" shouted the School.
"He'll pass him easily," said the Sixth.
Forrester stepped desperately across his adversary's path, resolved to do his duty, cost what it might.
Jeffreys never swerved from his course, right or left.
"He's going to charge the youngster!" gasped Farfield.
Forrester, who had counted on the runner trying to pass him, became suddenly aware that the huge form was bearing straight down upon him.
The boy was no coward, but for a moment he stood paralysed.
That moment was fatal.

There was a crash, a shout! Next moment Jeffreys was seen staggering to his feet and carrying the ball behind the goal.

But no one heeded him.

Every eye was turned to where young Forrester lay on his back motionless, with his face as white as death..