"Oh, but you must!" protested three or four of the others. "We've all heard about your goal-kicking."
The whole field was waiting, and, seeing that there was no help for it, Mr. Yard strode reluctantly forward.
"Where would you like it?" inquired Jack.
"Oh, any old place!" answered the unhappy convict. "This'll do."
He viciously dug out a hole with his heel. Jack, carefully poising the ball in his hands, stretched himself out full length, and a painful moment of silence prevailed over the field.
Mr. Yard retired two or three steps.
"Down!" he cried hoarsely; and then, running forward, hacked at the ball with amazing ferocity. Up it flew high over the crossbar, and, describing a graceful curve in the air, settled down in the next field.
There was a wild outburst of applause from the delighted Okestock team; and Mr. Yard, mopping his forehead with his sleeve, retired to his former position.
"If I hadn't have said to myself it was a warder's head," he muttered, "I'd never have done it."
The game was resumed even more vigorously than before. Determined to draw level, the soldiers hurled themselves into their task with unsparing energy and their extra weight and strength in the scrum began to tell its tale.