The Yanks grew rougher and more violent. Todd took to body checking where it was not necessary; Bosworth, when a Greaser got the puck away from him, followed on at his heels with ill-concealed malice, and banged away viciously at the unlucky man’s shins, even though it was apparent that the puck was wholly beyond the pursuer’s reach. Such tactics, unless checked, are usually the prelude to rougher play; and Dick, for this reason, was doubly grateful when, from the edge of the mêlée around the Yank goal-posts, Rawle swiped the puck through a second time. Play had hardly been resumed when the referee’s whistle announced the end of the first half.
As was to be expected, the jubilation under the pines was earnest and loud. In the opposite camp, where the neglected fires were dying away in smoke, quite different conditions prevailed. A few, with heroic repression of natural sympathy, still pretended to regard the whole matter as a joke, in which victory or defeat meant little or nothing. The great majority, however, unable to rise to this level, were distinctly conscious of having in some way been cheated. They had come out to be amused, and part of the amusement was to consist in seeing the impudent Greasers given a sound beating. And here were their men, including such big husky athletes as Curtis and Todd, and fellows who had been glorified as city rink experts, like Bosworth and Richmond, overthrown by a set of amateurs.
“Rotten!” said Marks, the connoisseur of sports, as he interviewed Curtis and Todd during the intermission. “Perfectly rotten! Did you get us up here to fool us?”
“I didn’t ask you to come,” returned Curtis, trying to keep his good nature. “If you can do much better, come out yourself.”
“Oh, I’m no athlete,” rejoined Marks, hastily, “but I can see what the fault is better than you do. That Varrell plays most of their game. You’ve got to use him up. Give them a rougher game. Push ’em hard. When two of you start for the puck, let the puck go where it pleases; just smash at the man. When the man’s out of the way, you can take your time about the puck. You’re heavy and have the advantage.”
“That seems rather mean,” said Curtis.
“Mean!” exclaimed Marks. “Did you ask a Hillbury man to excuse you when you tackled him on the football field? I guess not.”
Curtis glanced around the group and read the looks of approval. “Well, then,” he said finally, “make it rough, but let’s have fair play,”—his eye rested on Bosworth as he said this,—“and no low tricks. Everything must be straight and aboveboard.”
When the game began again, the new spirit was immediately apparent. The Yanks got the puck and tried to drive it down by weight, but the off-side rule checked them. Durand still stole the puck from behind their sticks and put his shoulder so low that he could not be overturned; while Varrell still hovered on the edge of the scrimmage and drew the puck as a magnet draws a scrap of iron. Despite the heavy body checking, the play lingered about the Yank goal, for the Yank forwards did not follow the puck back closely on the defence, and Melvin or Sands soon sent it into Yank territory again. Rawle tried for goal, and failed. Durand missed in his turn, and then Varrell got the puck thirty yards away, and while his opponents were watching for a pass, by a long beautiful shoot made the third score for his side.
And now the Yanks’ patience gave out. Rules or no rules, they were determined that their opponents should make no more goals.