“Hello, Bendall Kurtis,” replied Ned. “How are you to-day? Who’s going to win the game? You’re a football sharp, aren’t you?”
“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!”