THE PENALTY BOX
“There’s no use talking, if you want to win you’ve got to know all the tricks of the game.”
Hoyt Dale, Parker High’s sturdy left defense man, had been after his team mates all season. They were more in the mood to listen to him now, since they had just gone down to a stinging 5 to 2 defeat at the hands of Brinkman Prep.
“This makes three straight losses,” snapped Hoyt, “and we’re going to drop the big game with Hallstead as sure as shooting, unless...!”
“Unless what?” demanded Rudie Antrim, who played the other defense position.
“Unless you guys learn how to give as well as take!” Hoyt finished, defiantly. “Every team that plays us roughs us into the boards and stick handles us all over the ice. They get away with murder because Coach has never taught you fellows how to take care of yourselves. Why, where I used to play...!”
“You were brought up on dirty hockey!” accused Rudie, his face flushing. “We don’t play that kind of hockey here. We’d rather lose than...!”
“Oh, yes?” cut in Hoyt, bitingly. “That’s the trouble with this school. You’ve always had the idea that hockey’s a parlor game when it’s really one of the most rugged sports there is. It can be rough without being dirty ... but you birds can’t rough it because you don’t know how!”
Team members exchanged consulting glances. There was an element of truth in Hoyt Dale’s accusations. Their coach, Professor Dean Hogart, had admitted that he had never played the game. His knowledge and appreciation of the sport had been developed through observation during years that he had spent in Canada. Such a background no doubt left much to be desired but Parker High had been unable to afford a special hockey coach since hockey was a new sport for the school and still lacked sufficient public support.
“Something’s wrong with us, that’s certain,” conceded Walt Lowery, captain and centre. “Either we lack fighting spirit or...!”
“You can’t fight,” insisted Hoyt, “unless you’ve got the tools to fight with. That’s what I’ve been hitting at all season.”
“Something in that, too,” admitted Bud Gray, goalie, glancing about cautiously and lowering his voice. “Coach Hogart means all right, gang, but there’s certain inside stuff he doesn’t know. I think myself we’ve got a much better team than we’ve shown so far.”
“Sure we have!” declared Hoyt. “That’s what burns me up. We ought to be giving each team we meet the battle of its life. If you fellows would like me to put you wise to the tricks I know...?”
“Why don’t you?” urged Ed Compton, right wing. “You’ve played more hockey than any of us.”
“Well, I-I’d be glad to if Coach wouldn’t object.”
“Coach wouldn’t have to know,” suggested Lee Burrell, left wing. “He’d be for anything that would improve the team, anyway.”
“Not if it’s dirty playing,” countered Rudie, “and that’s what Hoyt’s system sounds like.”
“You’ve got dirty playing on the brain,” charged Hoyt. “You’re sore because I told you that you weren’t body-checking hard enough. If you want the truth, Rudie—you’re one of the weakest spots on the team!”
Hoyt Dale, not long a resident in Parker, believed in speaking his mind. One would have thought, to hear him, that he was captain of the team. But Hoyt’s nature was such he could not keep still for long. Team mates had to give him credit for an aggressive, unrelenting style of play. He was always diving into the midst of mêlées, slashing his stick about madly and bumping opponents right and left. Occasionally he made trips to the penalty box as the referee fouled him for tripping, hitting or illegally checking a rival but Hoyt was soon back on the ice as scrappy as ever. His willingness to mix it with the opposition had established him as the most colorful player on Parker’s sextet.
“I don’t see how it will hurt any for Hoyt to help us out,” supported Captain Walt Lowery, with a clash between Parker’s two defense men imminent. “And you could afford to listen to him, too, since three goals were scored down your side the ice today!”
“You know why?” flashed Rudie. “It’s because Hoyt was grandstanding. He wasn’t back in position where he should have been and I was left to guard both sides the ice.”
“Aw, dry up, Rudie!” snapped Walt. “If you can’t take a little criticism you don’t belong on the team. Hoyt’s going to teach us a few new wrinkles which may come in mighty handy against Hallstead. And you’d better pay close attention yourself.”
“I’ll pay attention all right,” rejoined Rudie, and glowered his defiance at the fellow who had volunteered to impart his superior knowledge to the squad.
It was decidedly unpopular, Rudie knew, to oppose a player who had turned in a spectacular brand of hockey all season but he had not liked Hoyt and his methods from the start. In Rudie’s estimation, Hoyt was a type who had to have the limelight at all times. If he didn’t get it he would either sulk or assume an indifferent attitude, placing the burden of responsibility upon someone else. Hoyt liked winners and winning—so much so, Rudie felt, that he would be inclined, in a pinch, to sacrifice the elements of sportsmanship for it. However, if the fellows were disposed to give him their ear, it was evident that Rudie would place himself in disfavor by offering further opposition.
“I’ve already gotten myself in dutch with the gang,” Rudie observed. “Besides, Hoyt’s got it in for me and he’ll try to make me look bad if he can. Only thing for me to do, from now on, is keep my mouth shut and watch my step.”
Hoyt Dale’s secret hockey lesson proved something of a sensation. It was Coach Hogart’s practice, at the finish of the daily session on the ice, to hurry off to attend to his professorial duties, leaving the players to take their showers and change back to street togs. This particular afternoon, the squad loitered on the rink until the coach had departed when Hoyt took charge.
“First thing you guys want to learn,” he snapped, importantly, “is how to guard against being spilled. You can’t play good hockey flat on your back and that’s where most of you are a good many times each game. If you were onto your business you could spill the other fellow instead of letting him spill you!”
And Hoyt picked Ralph Randall, substitute wingman, to illustrate how a man could be body-checked and set down heavily upon the ice.
“If he tries this on you, give him the stick,” Hoyt advised, and demonstrated by sending Randall flying through space. “You can bet your life that he won’t try it a second time,” Hoyt concluded, grinning.
“But that’s illegal!” Rudie protested, finding it impossible to keep still.
“The referee won’t call it once in a dozen times,” Hoyt answered. “It’s an old trick that’s being used right along. You’ve got to use it to protect yourself or you’re all out of luck.”
“It sure puts a man out of play,” observed Ed Compton. “I know now what’s happened to me when I’ve done high dives. That stick between your skates...!”
“Here’s another one they’re apt to pull on you,” said Hoyt, advancing toward Randall.
“Hey, no you don’t!” said the sub. “Pick on somebody else!”
“I won’t hurt you,” Hoyt reassured. “Not much, anyway. See, we’re in close quarters, both of us after a free puck. We’re trying to jockey each other out of the way. My opponent comes in and we lock arms. He tries to give me the elbow in the pit of the stomach but I beat him to it. Result—it gets his wind and he slides out of the picture.”
Randall, with a gasp, had relinquished his effort and dropped his stick to the ice.
“You couldn’t even see that, could you?” Hoyt asked, of the interested team members. “Then how is a referee going to see it?... And then there’s this one—where you knock a man’s feet out from under him with a sidewipe of your skate.”
Hoyt picked Hank Tolan, another sub to demonstrate upon. Hank did a flip-flop and struck solidly on his side, skidding along the ice.
“You get the idea?” pointed Hoyt. “These are just a few of the things that you’re running into each game. You should be prepared to give your opponents the same medicine ... and to guard against these fast ones. There’s an art, too, in riding a person into the boards. Come here, Hank...!”
“No, thanks!”
Hoyt’s knowledge of the various methods used to upset rival players and effectively cut them out of the play was close to awe-inspiring. It was something on the order of a police lieutenant demonstrating to a bunch of rookies how to disarm a crook. Hoyt made it look very simple and very, very impressive.
“Say, I thought most of the falls I took were just the result of bumps that couldn’t be avoided!” whistled Lee Burrell, “but I can see now where I’ve been dumped with neatness and dispatch. Do that over again, will you, Hoyt. I want to get the hang of it!”
The entire squad, a scowling Rudie Antrim included, set to work to master the various undercover maneuvers.
“This is great!” approved Captain Walt Lowery, at the end of an hour. “Now I really feel fortified for the first time. Wish we’d listened to you earlier in the season, Hoyt. We might have had a better record.”
“Well, this ought to give us a chance, at least, to beat Hallstead,” said Hoyt. “And if we can take that veteran outfit who think they know all there is to be known about this game, it’ll be a big enough feather in our caps.”
“You said it!” seconded goalie Bud Gray, with enthusiasm. “What do you think of Hoyt’s stuff now, Rudie? Pretty slick, eh?”
Rudie’s face flushed. He hated to give this Hoyt Dale person any credit but he had to admit that there was a science to the things he had taught. It had even given him a thrill to send fellow team mates flying through the air, knowing that he had done it intentionally, by using a certain definite system ... a stick between the legs, a knee properly placed, an elbow in the right spot, a shoulder brought into play and other sly little tricks designed to disconcert or spill the other fellow.
“It’s all against the rules,” Rudie replied, rather lamely, “but I’ll admit it’s worth knowing.”
“Worth knowing and using at certain times,” emphasized Hoyt. “If you have to choose between letting a man get past you and stopping him from getting through for a possible score, these little devices are worth everything! What diff does it make if you do get sent to the penalty box for two minutes every once in a while?... That’s part of the game.”
“I suppose it is,” Rudie considered, “but, in this case, you’re fouling on purpose ... and the question is...!”
“A foul is a foul!” barked Hoyt. “Why try to distinguish between ’em? A guy as picayunish as you would find fault with the way they played ‘drop-the-handkerchief’...!”
Fellow team members laughed and Rudie held his tongue. He had broken his resolution to keep silent as it was. What these special instructions might lead to was problematical but one thing was certain—Coach Hogart was due for a surprise the next time he saw his team in action!
Rivals in every other sport, it was natural that Hallstead should place Parker High on its schedule when the latter school went in for hockey. If the truth be known, Hallstead’s domain in other sports had inspired Parker to take up the game. Little hope was entertained, however, that Parker would succeed in downing Hallstead the first year. Parker had a hard enough time downing Hallstead in anything. But, since Hallstead seemed prouder of its ice hockey six than any other team, Parker High adherents impatiently awaited the day when their school might put a serious challenger in the field.
“If there’s any school we enjoy beating, it’s Hallstead,” declared a Parker fan. “And are they tough losers? Say, they fight you to the last ditch in anything! But that’s what I call real spirit. Our school ought to have more of it!”
Underdogs, and very conscious of it, Parker’s hockey squad dressed for the Hallstead game. There was little talking in the locker room, each player feeling the tension too much to indulge in the usual banter.
“Remember, fellows,” whispered Hoyt, just before the team was to leave the locker room for the ice, “you’re just as good as Hallstead. They can’t do anything to you that you can’t do to them.”
Fellow players nodded, grimly. They had their hearts set on nothing short of victory. A great showing against Hallstead would do much to atone for a disappointing season and raise Parker’s hockey stock to a high level for the year to follow. Perhaps school authorities would even be sufficiently impressed to hire a hockey coach who was an expert at the game.
“I know you’re going to give your best,” Coach Hogart told them. “You boys may not feel that you have accomplished much this season but I, personally, think you have done wonders this first year. Hallstead is primed and ready with a veteran six and years of experience behind it. I understand, too, that Hallstead is noted for a ripping, rushing sort of game. This ought to be a style well suited to you fellows because you play clean-cut hockey. If Hallstead isn’t careful, some of her players are apt to be spending most of their time in the penalty box. That being the case, you boys can be counted on to make the most of your opportunities during the time that Hallstead may be forced to play short-handed.”
Rudie Antrim, listening to Coach Hogart’s final words before the game, glanced about uneasily at team mates. The good old professor just didn’t have the power to enthuse or excite team members. His pep talks were punchless, far too much like classroom lectures. And his advice now seemed a bit out of place. No suggestion as to how Parker might cope with Hallstead’s rough and tumble attack except by playing clean hockey and taking advantage of possible Hallstead penalties. In between times, however, Parker was apparently destined to absorb considerable punishment.
“Coach probably figures, along with everyone else, that we don’t stand a chance,” thought Rudie. “Well, I’ll have to hand it to Hoyt for one thing—he’s actually got the boys pepped up with the idea that they can win this game. Hallstead may have it all over us but we’re not afraid of ’em!”
It was a crisply cold afternoon with a chilling breeze which swept the rink and caused a fair-sized crowd to stamp noisily in the stands.
“This’ll have to be a hot game to keep us warm!” punned someone.
“It’ll be hot all right,” promised a Hallstead rooter. “We’re going to burn up the ice with Parker!”
Chester Maltby, giant Hallstead centre, and noted as one of the state’s star players, looked formidable as he moved up and down the ice in preliminary practice. Hallstead’s season’s record was marred only by two tie games which was scarcely any mar at all. Her players sized the Parker squad up mirthfully.
“Easy picking,” the great Maltby was heard to remark.
“When we get through with ’em they’ll be sorry they ever took up hockey,” a fellow player rejoined, and laughed.
At the opening face-off, Hallstead took the puck into Parker territory immediately. Her forward wall advanced beautifully, brushed past Parker’s wingmen and drove into the defensive zone with Hoyt Dale and Rudie Antrim crouching low to stop the onslaught. Hoyt charged in fast and gave one of Hallstead’s wingmen a stiff body-check. He went down in a headlong slide across the ice and the fans cheered. Play veered away from Hoyt and swept to Rudie’s side of the ice.
“Stop ’em!” Hoyt shrieked, banging his stick on the rink.
Rudie blocked, was struck, whirled around, saw the puck beneath his feet, slashed at it, felt a stick jab between his legs, lost his balance and was toppled backwards. As he went down the form of Chester Maltby leaped over him and swung at the puck, now sliding free in the zone directly in front of Parker’s cage.
“A goal!” cried the crowd, as Hallstead’s great centre smacked the puck past goalie Bud Gray into a corner of the net.
Hallstead had counted in the first minute of play!
“Hey!” shouted an outraged Hoyt, skating up and shaking his fist at Rudie. “What did I tell you the other day? You let them rough you right out of play. A swell defense man you are! Snap into it! You’re playing too safe! Cut loose!”
Hallstead team members were grinning. They could make a shambles of the contest if they wanted. But what was the use? Parker was no opposition in this sport at all. Might as well tease their rivals along. Putting on a dazzling exhibition of pass work, Hallstead had her rooters howling with amusement as she forced Parker to chase her all over the rink, trying to gain possession of the puck. After five minutes of this superb team play, Hallstead slipped through with intentions of scoring another goal. And again the pass went to Chester Maltby who was in position for a shot. This time, however, Chester was blocked—not only blocked but bowled over by a frenzied dive on the part of Hoyt Dale.
“Off the ice!” ruled the referee and the Hallstead crowd boohed.
“Hold ’em!” Hoyt cried as he got to his feet and skated to the penalty box.
It was a deliberate foul which had obviously saved almost a sure goal as Chester had been on top of the net. The puck was faced-off not far from the cage and a furious mix-up resulted. It was now five men against Hallstead’s six and Parker’s entire attention was devoted to the defense of its goal. Rudie, in the thick of the fight, felt an elbow thud against his stomach and wondered whether it was accidental. That was the trouble ... after Hoyt’s reference to these things, a fellow was super conscious of everything that was happening to him ... trying to figure out when he was being done dirt or whether it was unintentional. Hallstead figures loomed on both sides of him and the puck was down there between a tangle of feet and smashing sticks. Why not try one or two of Hoyt’s pet tricks? He was being roughed plenty. Now, if he could get his stick down ... and shove his foot, just so...!
“Yea!”
The crowd was yelling at Rudie’s phenomenal recovery of the puck, emerging from a wildly struggling group near his goal, upsetting two Hallstead men as he did so. Rudie skated around behind his own goal, heart in his mouth, afraid that the referee would call a foul on him. But the official had evidently thought developments the natural outcome of the hot skirmish. Besides he, Rudie, had the reputation of an extremely clean player.
“I got away with it!” he told himself, as he skimmed down along the sideboards.
The great Maltby cut across the ice with the idea of heading him off. Rudie saw him coming out of the corner of his eye.
“I’ll try another Hoyt stunt,” he thought. “Maltby’s going to try to jam me into the boards. If I can only stop dead and let him shoot past, then shoulder him...!”
Rudie set his skates in the ice; Maltby almost on top of him, hurtled past, smacked up against the sideboards, rebounded and was hit jokingly by the man he had pursued. Maltby went down in a thudding heap and Rudie recaptured the puck, continuing his dash down the ice with Parker rooters going crazy.
“This is a cinch!” Rudie told himself, exultantly. “Hoyt was a hundred percent right ... this knowing how to take care of yourself ... out-roughing the other fellow ... is what counts in this game!”
Hallstead’s defense men were rushing back into position, having been in Parker’s territory, trying to help their team score a second goal. Rudie, seeing them almost upon him, fired a shot at the goal but the puck was caught by the broad blade of the goalie’s stick and shoved to the side. Here Ed Compton and Lee Burrell, Parker wings, lunged in and did battle with the defense men for possession of the little black disc. As they did so, Hoyt’s two minute penalty was up and he came flashing out of the box to aid team-mates who had been carrying the attack to an astounded Hallstead. Ed got the puck away from a Hallstead man behind the Hallstead cage, and made a perfect pass-out to Rudie who had roamed in the front area. Rudie blazed away at once and sent the puck whizzing past Hallstead’s goal tender, waist high, for the goal that tied the score, 1 to 1.
“Good boy!” shouted Hoyt, skating up to slap Rudie on the back. “Now you’re getting the idea! That was great stuff the way you fought your way down the ice!”
Rudie nodded as he skated back into position with the crowd cheering him. If a fellow didn’t care what he did, just played with abandon, it was surprising what he could accomplish. “Cut loose!” as Hoyt had said. Rudie had done this for the first time. Result—one of the few goals he had ever made in actual play.
“A referee overlooks an awful lot,” Rudie decided, “and maybe I was too strict on what I thought constituted a foul anyhow.”
With things breaking one’s way, it was easy to salve one’s conscience. And now his team members were plunging in as the next face-off occurred at centre, using what Hoyt had taught them as the occasion demanded. A spectacular game materialized as this sort of play kept up with members of both teams crashing into the sideboards or taking dizzy spills. There were processions to the penalty box, about evenly divided up as first one individual, then another, was ruled out for two minute periods. And still Rudie led a charmed life; hurling himself into the fray at every opportunity but escaping without penalty. Several times, no less a personage that the great Maltby was sent to the sidelines for fouling Rudie who had fouled him likewise.
“You’ve got it wrong, umps!” Maltby had protested on the last trip. “He should have come along with me! That guy...!”
The first period ended in a tie score and the Parker team, having suddenly found itself, skated from the rink to the roars of the crowd. This might prove to be a real contest after all!
“Boys, you’re simply splendid!” Coach Hogart greeted them. “A little rougher than I’ve ever seen you—but perfectly splendid!”
The old professor was greatly excited. He did not observe Hoyt’s wise wink behind his back, nor the amused grins on several faces. But, by the end of the furiously contested second period, when Hallstead and Parker players almost came to blows over alleged bits of unnecessary roughness, Coach Hogart sensed definitely that a change had come over his boys ... a change which disturbed him not a little....
“Watch yourselves,” he warned. “You’ve held Hallstead to a tie score thus far but you’ve made more trips to the penalty box than in any three other games this year. It’s going to be your downfall if you keep it up ... mark my words!”
“Mark his words!” laughed Hoyt, as the team took the ice for the third and last period. “Professor Hogart means well but he’s no coach! and he never will be. I guess you guys realize now how this game should be played.”
Fellow players nodded.
“We’ve got the fighting spirit today,” said Rudie. “That’s what’s doing more for us than anything else!”
“We’ve got more than that,” rejoined Hoyt. “We’ve got what Hallstead doesn’t like—an answer for everything they pull on us! We’ve spilled old Maltby so much that it’s slowed his whole game up. The same stuff, gang—and we’ll worry the life out of this outfit!”
Hallstead, surprised and miffed at the unusually stiff brand of opposition Parker was putting up, took the ice at the start of the third period resolved to go out in front and stay there. But Parker met the new attack with increased resistance and the crowd sat breathless as formation after formation was broken up by one side or the other, the puck changing hands with bewildering rapidity. Hallstead, Rudie now decided, was playing rough but fair hockey. Parker, however, was employing the practices taught by Hoyt when play came to close quarters. As the pressure of the contest grew hotter and hotter, these little devices became more obvious.
“Careful, fellows!” Rudie couldn’t help warning, during a time-out. “You’re going too far in a minute. I’ve never felt right about this ... we’ve got a chance for the game if...!”
“You’re okay!” broke in Hoyt. “Going great guns! Keep it up!”
Hoyt looked to Captain Walt Lowery for support and got it, in an approving nod. Victory over Hallstead was the bait—an unbelievable victory! There were just six more minutes of play. The game might go into overtime...!
Mustering his forces, Chester Maltby, great Hallstead centre, sallied determinedly into Parker territory, determined to crack her defense wide open. With wingmen on either side of him and a defense man joining in the attack, forming a four-man forward wall, the advance began.
“Look out, gang!” shouted Hoyt, and braced himself for the impact.
Maltby feinted a pass as he raced down upon Hoyt with the puck riding along at the end of his stick, then veered at the last moment and attempted to get around Parker’s left defense. Hoyt, thrown off guard, could not apply his usual body-check and had only time to ram his stick out. The stick caught Maltby between the legs and catapulted him.
“Booh!” roared Hallstead fans. “Take him out!”
“A major penalty for you!” shrilled the referee, skating over and pushing Hoyt to the sidelines. “Five minutes for this man!” he called to the timers.
“What for?” demanded Hoyt, registering innocence. “I only tried to get the puck. I...!”
“I’ve been watching you the whole game,” flashed the referee. “You’ve pulled that stunt once too often!”
“Wow—maybe that penalty doesn’t hurt!” moaned a Parker rooter, as Hoyt, still protesting, slid into the penalty box. “He’s out for practically the rest of the game which shoots our defense and breaks up our attack.”
Parker team members glanced concernedly at one another as a fighting Hallstead lined up close to Parker’s goal for a face-off.
“You see—it doesn’t pay!” cried Rudie.
“Shut up!” blazed Captain Lowery, who was on edge. “Get in there! Don’t let ’em score!”
The referee dropped the puck to ice. It was lost almost at once in the mad turmoil which followed. Goalie Bud Gray did heroic work in warding off a rain of vicious shots. But still Hallstead kept battering with Parker fighting the harder to atone for the loss of their defense men. A cry went up as two Hallstead players were bumped to the ice in front of the net.
“Off the ice—you and you!” barked the referee, and slapped two Parker players on the back—Left Wing Lee Burrell and Captain Walt Lowery!
“It’s three against six now!” gasped a spectator. “What’s the matter with Parker? I’ve never seen so much fouling!”
A scowling Hoyt Dale moved over to make room for his two team-mates in the penalty box.
“This is not so good,” were Captain Lowery’s first words.
“The ref’s got it in for us because I kicked when he put me out,” Hoyt rejoined.
“You’re wrong!” returned Walt, remorsefully. “He’s just gotten wise to us, that’s all! We put up a game like this and then have to lose it on...!”
“... fouls!” finished Lee, feelingly. “Swell advice you gave us, Hoyt!... We ought to have known better!”
“We’re not licked yet,” retorted Parker’s left defense, hopefully, and made a megaphone of his hands. “Stay with ’em, Rudie—big boy—careful in there—don’t let ’em put you in the penalty box!”
Rudie, who had been conferring with his two remaining team-mates, right wing Ed Compton and goalie Bud Gray, looked toward the three deposed players in astonishment.
“What did he say?” he asked of Ed.
“They’re all shouting now,” said Ed. “Telling us to play it safe so we won’t make any fouls ... and hold ’em till they get back in the game!”
“Can you beat it?” exclaimed Rudie, and grinned.
But the referee was calling another face-off not far from Parker’s net and Hallstead had all five men down the ice—five actually against two—in an effort to jam the puck home while Parker was so severely handicapped.
“Listen, fellows!” pleaded Rudie, of Ed and Bud. “Hoyt’s had his say now and you see where it’s gotten us. Here’s our chance to show what can be done—on the square. Are you with me?”
“Sure we’re with you!” cried Bud, crouching in the mouth of the cage.
“All the way!” seconded Ed.
And the battle was on! Rudie was knocked off his feet, stepped on, hit with sticks and swarmed over as five Hallstead men sought to get the puck from under him. He finally recovered his feet and sent the puck whizzing up the ice out of danger. Hallstead chased it, took on another formation, and came dashing back on the attack, five men abreast, with only two Parker men to face the charge. This time it was Ed who went down under flashing Hallstead heels and only Rudie was left to battle the invaders. He was shoved into the cage in a furious assault, wedged in alongside goalie Bud Gray, but—between them—they kicked the puck free.
“What hockey!” Hoyt was screaming. “That’s holding ’em, you guys!”
“They can’t keep this up much longer!” said Captain Lowery, nervously. “How many seconds are we out of play yet?”
“Fifty!” informed Lee, who sat next the timer, biting finger nails already chewed to the quick. “Gee, this last minute’s been an hour!”
Once more, led by Chester Maltby, Hallstead rallied to the attack. And once more two valiant Parker men, fighting with a frenzy equal to five, met the rush head-on. But both went down under jolting impacts and goalie Bud Gray was left to face the onslaught alone. He was met, however, by a wave of blue-jerseyed men and was pulled to the side on blocking a shot so that the puck was whizzed past him on the rebound.
“Goal disallowed!” shrieked the referee, tearing into the mix-up in front of the net and tapping Chester Maltby on the shoulder. “Penalty box for you,” he signified, “and you...!” referring to the Hallstead right defense. A great clamor went up as the two Hallstead players joined an already crowded penalty box. Out on the ice, Ed and Rudie solemnly shook hands. They were still in the thick of the fight and now the competition was almost even again ... three against two. But Lee and Walt were due back on the ice now, any second, which would swing the advantage in Parker’s favor. And less than two minutes of the regular playing time remained!
A new face-off with Rudie opposing the Hallstead right wing. He managed to get his stick on the puck and hook it away. As he skated to the side with Hallstead players in pursuit, he saw Lee and Walt tumbling out of the penalty box and rushing back into play. Changing his defensive tactics at once, Rudie suddenly raced up the ice toward Hallstead’s goal, leaving two frantic Hallstead men behind him. The third, playing back on defense, took his station in front of the goalie and awaited Rudie’s attack. Lee and Walt, however, were joining Rudie from the side, spanking their sticks on the ice. The puck skimmed across to them and all three swung into formation, sweeping in upon the under-guarded Hallstead goal. Ed to Rudie to Walt was the course the puck took as the trio neared the cage. Rudie was violently body-checked by the lone defense man but Walt was left free to skate in upon the goalie and sent the puck hurtling into the net.
“A goal!” scored the referee.
Hallstead sat thunderstruck; Parker supporters made the air warm with lusty shouts. In another minute a dope bucket would be violently upset. Hoyt Dale now leaned forward in the penalty box, his five minute suspension almost up. In another three seconds he was back on the ice, Parker’s full strength returned, with Hallstead still shy her two regulars.
“No monkey business!” warned Captain Lowery.
“Don’t worry!” a chastened Hoyt assured. “They don’t get me in that penalty box again!”
And the next instant the game was over.
“Rudie, old timer!” cried the fellow who had thought he knew more than the coach. “I take back everything I ever said against you. That defense you put up was simply immense ... and it was me who put you in that hole...!”
“It’s okay now,” said Rudie, as he glanced at the scoreboard.
“Oh, no it’s not,” replied Hoyt, as guilty looking team members gathered around. “I owe all you guys an apology. All we’ve needed is more fight. And speaking of fair play—say, after my starting you off on the wrong foot, Rudie and Lee had me scared stiff. I was afraid they’d join us in the penalty box and leave only poor Bud out there to defend the goal! Did I suffer torture?... I threw my ideas overboard right then. They’re all wet!”
“I’ll say they are!” agreed Captain Walt Lowery, with a supporting chorus. “You can get by with this stuff just so long and after that—you’re out of luck!”
It was here that an elated Coach Hogart burst in upon them. “Your play was magnificent!” he cried. “Everyone of you fairly outdid himself. You’re all to be congratulated!”
Parker High’s victorious team members grinned, looked a bit sheepishly at one another and decided to say nothing. What the old professor, who had loyally volunteered to coach them, didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him, because it was never going to happen again.