In the middle of the stand a boy arose uncertainly and looked down. Mr. Dana saw him and beckoned impatiently. And when Kendall had wormed his way to the bottom he was over the rope and was pulling him along. “Payson wants you,” he said. “Here, pull off that coat and vest. Who’s got a sweater to loan?” Several of the substitutes jumped to their feet. “Take this, sir!” “Thanks!” Mr. Dana selected one and tossed it to Kendall. “Get into it,” he said quickly. “Look after these things, somebody.” He tossed Kendall’s beloved gray coat and vest helter-skelter in the direction of the bench. “Come on,” he said. Simms had just been buried under the big form of the Broadwood left guard when they reached Mr. Payson. “Here’s your man, Payson,” announced Mr. Dana. The coach took his eyes from the inert form of Simms for a moment and looked Kendall up and down. “Dana says you can kick,” he said inquiringly. “Yes, sir, some.” “Were you on the Second?” “Yes, sir, for awhile.” “Think you could go in there now and put that ball over the goal for us?” Kendall looked and shook his head slowly. “I――I don’t believe so, sir,” he faltered. Mr. Payson shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Mr. Dana. “Thought so,” he said. “Wait a minute,” said Mr. Dana as the coach turned his attention to the field again. “What do you mean, Kendall?” he asked sternly. “The ball’s on the twenty-eight yards. That’s not a hard kick.” “No, sir, only I――I’ve never tried to kick in a real game, and――” “You’re afraid!” sneered Mr. Dana. “I thought you had some spunk!” Kendall colored and stared miserably before him. “Do you mean that you’d rather see Broadwood win than go out there and try to make an easy goal like that!” “No, sir,” replied Kendall. “I’ll try.” Mr. Dana looked at the coach. Mr. Payson hesitated for a moment. Then he took his pipe from his month and dropped it into his pocket. “All right,” he said. “Go in there, send Greene out and tell Simms I say you’re to kick a goal. And you _do_ it, do you hear?” “I’ll try, sir,” replied Kendall. “Report to the referee first, Burtis,” said Mr. Dana, clapping him on the back. “And just forget that there’s anyone near you. Make believe you’re kicking just to show me what you can do, my boy. Never mind what’s ahead of you. Watch the ball and boost it a good one!” And Kendall, very frightened, ran onto the field. “_Change signals!_” cried Simms. “_Kick formation!_” Kendall stepped back slowly, measuring the distance, and dug his heel in the turf. Simms scuttled back and dropped to the ground. “Hold hard now!” cried Dan. There was a great silence. The stands held their breath and even the players settled into quiet. Only the sound of their labored breathing came to Kendall as he dropped further back. “Thirty-one! Sixty-four!” cried Simms. “Seventeen! Eight――”