“Here, take this ball, go down there to the fifteen-yard line, and try drop-kicking.  Keep a strict count, and let me know how many tries you had and how many times you put it over the goal.”

Neil took the ball and trotted off to the scene of his labors, greatly comforted.  Kicking goals from the fifteen-yard line didn’t sound very difficult, and he set to work resolved to distinguish himself.  But drop-kicks were not among Neil’s accomplishments, and he soon found that the cross-bar had a way of being in the wrong place at the critical moment.  At first it was hard to keep from turning his head to watch the progress of the game, but presently he became absorbed in his work.  As a punter he had been somewhat of a success at Hillton, but drop-kicking had been left to the full-back, and consequently it was unaccustomed work.  The first five tries went low, and the next four went high enough but wide of the goal.  The next one barely cleared the cross-bar, and Neil was hugely tickled.  The count was then ten tries and one goal.  He got out of the way in order to keep from being ground to pieces by the struggling teams, and while he stood by and watched the varsity make its first touch-down, ruminated sadly upon the report he would have to render to Mills.

But a long acquaintance with footballs had thoroughly dispelled Neil’s awe of them, and he returned to his labor determined to better his score.  And he did, for when the teams trotted by him on their way off the field and Mills came up, he was able to report 38 tries, of which 12 were goals.

“Not bad,” said the coach.  “That’ll do for to-day.  But whenever you find a football, and don’t know what to do with it, try drop-kicking.  Your punting is very good, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t learn to kick from drop or placement as well.  Take my advice and put your heart and brain and muscle into it, for, while we’ve got backs that can buck and hurdle and run, we haven’t many that can be depended on to kick a goal, and we’ll need them before long.”

Neil trotted out to the locker-house with throbbing heart.  Mills had as good as promised him his place.  That is, if he could learn to kick goals.  The condition didn’t trouble Neil, however; he could learn to drop-kick and he would learn, he told himself exultantly as he panted under the effects of a cold shower-bath.  For a moment the wild idea of rising at unchristian hours and practising before chapel occurred to him, but upon maturer thought was given up.  No, the only thing to do was to follow Mills’s advice:  “Put your heart and brain and muscle into it,” the coach had said.  Neil nodded vigorously and rubbed himself so hard with the towel as to almost take the skin off.  He was late in leaving the house that evening, and as all the fellows he knew personally had already taken their departure, he started back toward the campus alone.  Near the corner of King Street he glanced up and saw something a short distance ahead that puzzled him.  It looked at first like a cluster of bicycles with a single rider.  But as the rider was motionless Neil soon came up to him.