Yes, even Kendall, who had had scant opportunity to study the strategy of the game, saw where the trouble lay and groaned impotently more than once as Yardley’s chances of victory were thrown away. What especially surprised him was Hammel’s failure to kick that goal. The pass from Fogg, who played center, was perfect, the dark blue line held like a wall and he had all the time in the world. And yet the ball missed the left upright by a good six feet. Why, Kendall was almost certain that he could have done better than that himself, although he had never tried to drop-kick a goal! He wondered on the way up the hill if anyone would object if he brought his football down there some morning between recitations and tried a few goals. He didn’t believe they would. He made up his mind to do it. And so on Monday morning, after mathematics, he hurried to his room, got his old stained and frayed pigskin and went down to the gridiron. There was not a soul in sight at that time of day. It had rained in the night and the ground was soft and slippery. Kendall started at the fifteen yards and missed the crossbar by five feet or so. At twenty yards he got over once and missed twice. It wasn’t as easy as it had looked. At twenty-five yards, however, he had less difficulty. Ten tries netted him six goals, which wasn’t so bad considering that Kendall hadn’t kicked a football for a month or more. After that he took the ball to the side of the field and tried angles. Naturally, he wasn’t overly successful at this, but he managed several times to get the pigskin across the bar, and he became so interested that he quite lost track of time and the hour bell found him far from Oxford and he had to hide the football in a corner of the tennis shed and sprint all the way up the hill.