A score of boys grinned, a dozen laughed outright. But Hen wasn't bright enough to see the point.
"What's an anvil got to do with it all?" demanded Hen in a puzzled tone. "An anvil belongs in a blacksmith shop."
"And that's where you ought to go, to do all your 'hammering' and 'knocking,'" explained Dave, as he skated slowly away.
"Huh! You think you're smart!" growled Hen, who still couldn't see why the other fellows had laughed.
"Hen," remarked Dick Prescott, "I'm afraid you're not up to concert pitch."
"Concert pitch?" repeated the dense one. "No, I know I'm not. Did I ever make any claim to being musical?"
"You see," hinted Greg Holmes, "the trouble with the Dutcher kid is that he's all ivory, from his collar-button up."
Another laugh greeted this assertion, but Hen only glared stupidly.
"Ivory is all white, anyway," Hen muttered. "So am I."
He swelled out his chest, did one or two fancy little things on skates, and tried to look important. But none of the other fellows in the group on the ice seemed inclined to take young Dutcher at his own valuation.