Bump! The ball, hit squarely by the toe of Wolgast's football shoe, soared upward from the twenty-five-yard line. It described an arc, flying neatly over and between the goal-posts at one end of the athletic field.
"That's the third one for you, Wolly," murmured Jetson. "You're going to be a star kicker!"
"Shall I try out the rest of the squad, sir?" asked Wolgast, turning to Lieutenant-Commander Parker, this year's new coach.
"Try out a dozen or so of the men," nodded coach, which meant, in effect: "Try out men who are most likely to remain on the Navy team."
"Jetson!" called Wolgast.
Jet tried, but it took his third effort to make a successful kick.
"You see, Wolly, who is not to be trusted to make the kick in a game," remarked Jetson with a rueful smile.
"It shows me who may need practice more than some of the others—-that's all," answered Wolgast kindly.
With that the ball went to Dave. The first kick he missed.
"I can do better than that, if you'll give me the chance," observed Darrin quietly.

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