Amber had been feeding Aspinall assiduously for the last ten minutes, and
Acton had, despite his cleverness, more than he could really hold in the
flying International. He stalled off the attack somehow, and Bourne always
covered his exertions, so that it seemed as if there would be a draw after
all. At last the ball was swung across, and Aspinall was off on a final
venture. Acton stuck to him like a leech, but the winger tipped the ball
to his partner, and as Acton moved to intercept the inside, the latter
quickly and wisely poked the ball back again to Aspinall. He was off again
in his own inimitable style, and I saw him smile as he re-started his run.
I rather fancy Acton saw it too, and accepted the smile as a sneering
challenge; anyhow, he set his lips and I believe made up his mind that in
any case Aspinall should not get the winning goal. How it exactly happened
I cannot say, but as Aspinall was steadying himself, when at top speed,
for an almost point-blank delivery, I saw Acton break his own stride,
shoot out his leg, and the next moment the International was stumbling
forward, whilst the ball rolled harmlessly onward into our goal-keeper's
hands. I could hardly believe my own eyes, but it was a deliberate trip,
if ever there was one! Aspinall tried to recover himself, failed, and came
with a sickening crash against the goal-post. I blew the whistle and
rushed to Aspinall; his cheek was bleeding villainously and he was deadly
pale.
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