“The team’s practising there this morning and I thought that if you played you’d better get Sam to work you in with the scrubs for a try-out.”
“Thanks, but I don’t. I’m not a very good skater, either.”
“That makes no matter. Neither is Sam, but they’ve got him playing goal. That’s the reason, I guess. If Sam lets go of the goal he always falls down.”
Joe smiled politely as he paid for the lacing. Sam paid no attention to the slur.
“Tom wants to sell you a hockey-stick,” he said calmly. “Just the same, if you’d like to try it, now’s the time. We need fellows.”
“I’d like to, but I’d be ashamed to,” laughed Joe. “What I’d have to do first is learn to keep on my feet.”
“Just watch Sam, then,” said Tom Pollock. “If he does a thing one way, you do it the other, and you’ll be all right. I suppose I can’t sell you a pair of gloves or a sweater, Faulkner?”
“No, thanks. Not today, anyway. Maybe another time——”
“Don’t promise anything,” interrupted Sam. “There’s a good store up the street. Shall we start along?”