THE CLASH OF MEETING STICKS SOUNDED FURIOUSLY.
"Look at Lef play! Like old times to see that dash!" shouted one fellow.
And indeed, Lef was just then showing that he knew the game from start to finish. Two years back he had been a brilliant player, and only his love for unfair methods had uncrowned him. Still, many remembered that for a time he had been without a rival on the ice; and his present work startled them.
"Bully for the Wanderers! They're going to make you hustle some, boys! Look at that for a clean steal, would you! Wake up, there, Lanky; don't go to sleep yet! Plenty of time after you get yours!"
Of course the backers of Lef's team, while not numerous, were exceedingly noisy, and there were times when it seemed as though the Columbias might have invaded the enemy's country, such was the clamor against them.
"It's going in the net!" shrieked one looker-on, as with a tremendous blow Klemm sent the puck speeding along.
"Will it—maybe, maybe not," jeered Jack Eastwick, who as a possible substitute, was hovering near the outside of the lines.
"Hey! what you doing there, West? Leave that rubber alone, will you?" howled some one, when the defender of the Columbia goal met the flying puck with a well-aimed crack that ended the suspense temporarily, and hurled it back toward the centre of the ice.