"That's Rockledge, one of the Clifford High teachers, and the man who coached their football squad. He's a Yale man!" said some one near Helen Allen; but she only gave the party one quick look, for her whole heart and soul just then seemed to be wrapped up in the work of her beloved brother; nor was her great chum Minnie one whit behind in showing the deepest interest.
McQuirk was on the alert, and his reputation as a defender of goal was well known. Although Lanky tried another little game he found himself up against a stone wall that time, and the disc was brushed away from the net. Once more there was a wild rush and a scramble, in which various sticks flashed through the air, and many a punch and blow were wasted.
Then, through the melée, came Paul Bird speedily heading for the Clifford goal, and dribbling the disputed puck before him. Constantly his eyes roved to left and right as he sped onward, and apparently he was ready to strike for a goal if threatening peril forced him hard, although desirous of getting a closer shot.
Here was a new adversary for the defender of the net to face, and one whose tactics must of necessity be entirely different from those of the rover.
Every one held his or her breath. In that critical moment the keen cutting of steel runners on the ice alone greeted the ears of that assembled multitude. And thousands of eyes were glued upon that flitting figure, back of which trailed six or eight players, some ready to assist, others to block his design.
It was nearly time for the first half to come to an end. The contestants were already breathing hard, and almost exhausted with their strenuous labors of twenty minutes. Would Paul succeed in launching a shot that the waiting McQuirk could not baffle in time, or must the whistle catch him in the very act!
"There he goes!" whispered Buster, gripping his fat thighs unconsciously as he bent forward to watch the result.
Darting forward suddenly Paul Bird had made a complicated movement with his stick calculated to bewilder the guardian of the net. Then with one swift stroke he sent the puck spinning along.
"Missed!" howled a delighted Cliffordite.
"Not for Joseph!" echoed Buster instantly, "don't you see it landed in the net?"