“He doesn’t seem to have much doubt as to his ability to play football,” said Dan with a laugh. “Said he guessed he was a natural-born player.” Gerald grinned. “Yes, that was funny. Still, I like the chap’s looks just the same. And who knows, Dan? He may turn out a star!” “I’m afraid it will take some turning, though,” laughed Dan. “However, he’s got my best wishes. Goodness knows I can use all the stars I can find this year!” * * * * * When Kendall returned to his room Harold Towne was ready for bed. He faced Kendall with one foot between the sheets and a broad grin on his thin face. “Well, did you fill out your blank?” he asked with a chuckle. But the chuckle died away in his throat, for Kendall advanced across the room with an unsmiling countenance. “I’ve got a good mind,” he said in a low voice, “to punch you in the face.” Harold drew back and threw up one arm. “Can’t you take a joke?” he stammered. “Oh, that was a joke, was it?” growled Kendall. “I call it a dirty lie. And I’d like to lick you for it,” he added longingly. Harold backed off toward the window, alarm written large on his white face. “You――you’d better not!” he cried. “I’m not going to,” said Kendall, turning away. “But don’t you ever get fresh with me again, Towne, or I’ll just naturally whale you! I’m sorry, but I don’t guess I’m going to like you.” CHAPTER IV FIRST PRACTICE The next day Kendall’s school life really began. At half-past seven there was chapel, at eight breakfast in the big dining-room, or commons as it was called, on the first floor of Whitson, and at nine came his first recitation, Latin 3. At half-past nine there was French 3a. Then came a half hour of freedom from class rooms, a half hour put to good use in polishing up for the next trial, mathematics 3, at half-past ten. The mathematics instructor was Mr. McIntyre, a hard taskmaster. At eleven-thirty there was Physical Culture in the gymnasium. After that came dinner at one o’clock, and, at two, English 3b. That, so far as lessons were concerned, finished his day. At a little after three-thirty observe him making his way toward the athletic field, an odd-looking figure with his long legs in a pair of old gray trousers, a faded brown sweater completing his costume. He wore no cap and, since his sweater was of the “turtle-neck” variety, his hair had been much disarranged in the struggle with it. For shoes he had put on a pair of rubber-soled “sneakers.” As he passed along in front of the dormitories――taking the longest way since he had only a very general idea where the athletic field lay――he occasioned not a little interest in beholders. Luckily he was quite unaware of the strangeness of his attire and so had no ear for the frequent chuckles that followed his progress. [Illustration: “An odd-looking figure in a pair of old gray trousers.”]