“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.”