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.
He was back again the next morning, and several other mornings that followed and, although there was none to watch or applaud, he didn’t get tired of conquering the crossbar with the dirty old brown ball. When, one day he managed to put it over from placement squarely on the thirty-five yard line he was very well pleased indeed. Place-kicking was something he had known nothing of before coming to Yardley, and he had to solve its problems unaided. But solve them he did. He learned to judge the strength of the wind and allow for it, to point the ball according to distance and direction, to keep his eye on the spot to be kicked. Doubtless he would have progressed more rapidly with someone to teach him, but he got along remarkably well alone. An expert would have instructed him to have the laced side of the ball toward him so as to use the lacings as a guide in sighting, and Kendall had to discover the advisability of that unaided. And so the morning’s half hour of goal-kicking became quite a regular event for Kendall, and almost every day—always when the weather allowed—he was down on the field after mathematics recitation swinging that long right leg of his and rapidly wearing the leather off the toe of his shoe. And then one forenoon when he was trudging up the hill with the pigskin tucked under his arm it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps for almost a fortnight he had been unintentionally disobeying rules. That afternoon he sacrificed a quarter of an hour of watching practice and found Mr. Collins in the office.
“You know, sir,” explained Kendall, “you told me I mustn’t take part in athletics, and I’ve been practicing goal-kicking. Was that wrong, sir?”
“Hm,” said Mr. Collins, placing the tips of his fingers together and frowning intently for a moment. “Er—on your own hook, so to speak, Burtis?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I just wanted to see if I could do it.”
“Well, no, I don’t think you are guilty of any wrong, my boy, for you say you didn’t think about it. In fact, I’m not sure that what you’ve been doing is an infringement of the rules. Still, I think that, in order to be on the safe side, you had better drop it. I’m sorry, but rules are rules, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Kendall with a sigh. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “Could you tell me, Mr. Collins, how much longer probation is going to last?” he asked.
Mr. Collins shook his head gently. “No, I can’t. I don’t know, and it would be wrong to tell you if I did. But I will say that you have been doing very good work, Burtis, and I think I may assure you that if you keep it up your term of probation will terminate before very long.”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”