“Why, we are, of course,” returned Kendall confidently. “But I wish you had seen that Forest Hill fellow run that ball back. He must have made twenty yards!” “Good stuff! Who’s playing for us?” “Most of the regulars. Fogg’s at center, Ridge and Merriwell are the guards, Jensen and Mitchell tackles, Vinton and Norton ends, Roeder and Stearns half-backs, Simms quarter, and the full-back I don’t know.” “That’s Marion. What’s the matter with Hammel, I wonder? That isn’t Jensen at right tackle, though, Curt; that’s Stark.” “Is it? But it looks like Jensen. No, he’s got dark hair, hasn’t he? And there’s Jensen on the bench down there; next to Holmes.” “Jensen’s hair, by the way, is about the same color as yours, Curt. I don’t like to see them wear it as long as that, though. Nowadays, when headguards are the fashion it isn’t necessary.” Ned glanced at Kendall’s hair and displayed much embarrassment. “I didn’t mean―― Honest, Curt, I hadn’t―― You wear yours long, too, don’t you?” he ended lamely. “Me? Why, no; at least, not like Jensen’s. I guess mine needs trimming.” Kendall laughed. “Mother’s always after me to have my hair cut, and now that I’m away from home I guess it’ll be down on my shoulders if I don’t watch out. It grows awfully fast.” “Then you don’t wear it long because you’re a footballist?” asked Ned. “I’m glad of it, because you’ll look better when it’s trimmed a little. I’ve got to have mine done, too. We might go through the agony together next week, eh? Hello, look at that for a punt!” “A dandy!” sighed Kendall. “Simms has got it. No! Missed it! Got it again, though. He’s down!” “Now let’s see what our chaps can do with the ball,” said Ned. “Here we go! Good work, Roeder! Five yards easy! And right through the center! Watch that Forest Hill left end, Curt. He was off-side about a yard that time. There he goes again. I thought so! Penalty for you, Mr. Man!” The whistle had blown and now the umpire was carrying the ball five yards nearer the Forest Hill goal. “Now will you behave?” murmured Ned. “This is a fake. Marion can’t punt. I thought so. Stearns outside tackle for three yards. That was very neat. Hello! What’s wrong?” “Stearns fumbled,” said Kendall sadly. “It’s Forest Hill’s ball.” “And rather too near our goal to be comfortable. About the thirty-five yard line, isn’t it?” “I think so,” answered Kendall, sitting forward on the edge of his seat. Three cheer leaders jumped from their places and called for “A regular cheer, fellows, and get into it!” And then, while the cheer was crashing forth, a brown-clad youth hurled himself against the Yardley line, broke through, eluding player after player, and circled toward the center of the field and the Yardley goal. The watchers leaped to their feet. Pandemonium reigned. Then Simms dived for him and brought him fiercely to earth on the twenty yards.