Followed by his crowd, Lef skated away, going up the river. Those who remained with Frank were filled with indignation.
"He's getting worse every day!" grumbled Lanky; "and it's dangerous to have such a firebrand around. He ought to be cut dead by every self-respecting fellow in the whole town. Then his father would see that it was time to get him off to some place where they didn't know him, and his mean ways."
"That's what," echoed Buster Billings, "he's just beyond all hope of reforming. Listen to those guys laughing to beat the band as they skate away! They seem to think it was funny; and I reckon they're telling Lef he ought to have aimed better."
"It was a mistake to play them at all!" declared Paul Bird, indignantly.
"Yes, I guess it was," admitted Frank, "though like the balance of you, at the time I thought we just had to accept their challenge. However, no great amount of damage has been done. A couple of bruised shins, and a sore head tally up our hurts."
"Yes, and we just knocked spots out of 'em in the game, even with all their rough-house play. The practice pays up for the few bangs we got. But notice fellows, that not one on their side went out from hurts," remarked Jack Comfort.
"If I had it to play over again I'd do different," growled Shadduck, holding up his wounded left hand.
"Well, what's the use of crying over spilt milk?" observed Ralph; "we did what we started in to do, and showed Lef's crowd up for the tricky lot they are. Now the rest of the day is before us. Let's forget our troubles, boys."
So until noon came they skated around, or gathered in groups talking over the coming game with Clifford. Those who knew more or less about the strong points of the up-river players were eager to tell these things to their mates, so that they might profit by them.
Frank, Ralph and Lanky walked home together at noon.