“I don’t believe,” said Sandy Fogg, the broad-shouldered, good-natured center, “I ever played in a game where there was less punting.” “That’s so,” said Dan. “It was ‘old-fashioned football’ from start to finish. We should have had another score, though. In the second period we had a dandy chance down there on their thirty yards.” “That was me,” said Simms. “I don’t know how it happened. Seemed as though that ball just jumped away from me!” “I don’t regret what didn’t happen so much as what did,” observed Tom. “We ought never to have let them get that touchdown.” Everyone assented more or less gloomily to that. “Oh, well,” said Holmes cheerfully, “what’s the good of post mortems? We beat ’em, and could have done it again right afterwards. We were slow in getting started, that’s all.” “It won’t do to be so slow next Saturday,” said Dan. “Carrel’s has a pretty good team this year, I hear.” “They’re light, though,” said Tom. “There’s one thing we ought to find, Dan, if you don’t mind my butting into your affairs,” said Fogg, “and that’s some fellow who can kick a goal once out of twenty times.” “I know,” assented Dan with a frown. “And don’t you think I’m not worrying about that as much as you are, Sandy. We all thought last year that Hammel was going to make good, but he doesn’t seem to get down to it at all. Payson’s going to have him out for morning practice next week and says all he needs is a little more confidence. I wish I’d let you try those goals this afternoon, Al.” But Simms shook his head. “I’m glad you didn’t, Dan. I’d have slipped up sure on ’em. I was so afraid you were going to, after that second score, that I was afraid to look at you!” “You should have put in the chap who was kicking goals down at the field one morning last week,” said Arthur. “I watched him from the window for about ten minutes and it looked as though he couldn’t miss them.” “Who was it?” asked Dan. “I don’t know. I couldn’t make him out. One of the subs, I suppose.” “Where was he kicking from?” asked Gerald. “The five yard line?” “About thirty, I think. And from an angle, too.” “Oh, come, Arthur,” laughed Dan, “you were looking through one of those crazy panes of glass in Oxford.” “I was in Oxford, all right; Room C, it was; but there wasn’t anything the matter with my eyesight. I guess the fellow made ten or twelve tries and kicked more than half as many goals.” Dan glanced about the room questioningly. “Who the dickens could it have been, fellows?” he asked in perplexity. “I don’t know any sub who can do that.” “Or any regular, either,” murmured Tom. “This was in the morning, you say?” asked Sandy Fogg. “Yes, just after my Latin. I was waiting for some papers that Collins had.” “Well, I don’t like to cast asparagus on your eyesight, Arthur,” said Tom, with a smile, “but your story sounds fishy.” “What was he kicking, Thompson, drop or place?” asked Simms. “Drop at first, and then he tried placement.”