As the fleet-footed junior darted past him the other struck out wildly; but missing his blow, he seized the ball and gave a furious kick in the direction of the retreating enemy.
It was a fine drop-kick, and soared far over the head of its intended victim, straight between the goal posts, an undoubted and brilliant goal.
Forrester stopped his retreat to applaud, and Scarfe scornfully joined.
"Awfully good," said he; "you certainly must play on Saturday.

We've nobody can kick like that." "I meant it to hit Forrester," said Jeffreys, panting with his effort, and his lips nearly white with excitement.
"Would you like another shot ?" called out the young gentleman in question.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, losing your temper like that," said Scarfe bitterly.

"Couldn't you see he hit you by accident ?" "He did it on purpose," said Jeffreys savagely.
"Nonsense.

He was aiming at the goal and missed.

You did the same thing yourself, only you aimed at him." "I wish I had hit him!" growled Jeffreys, glaring first at Scarfe, than at Forrester, and finally shambling off the ground.
"There's a nice amiable lamb," said Forrester, as he watched the retreating figure.