“Oh, no it’s not,” replied Hoyt, as guilty looking team members gathered around. “I owe all you guys an apology. All we’ve needed is more fight. And speaking of fair play—say, after my starting you off on the wrong foot, Rudie and Lee had me scared stiff. I was afraid they’d join us in the penalty box and leave only poor Bud out there to defend the goal! Did I suffer torture?... I threw my ideas overboard right then. They’re all wet!”
“I’ll say they are!” agreed Captain Walt Lowery, with a supporting chorus. “You can get by with this stuff just so long and after that—you’re out of luck!”
It was here that an elated Coach Hogart burst in upon them. “Your play was magnificent!” he cried. “Everyone of you fairly outdid himself. You’re all to be congratulated!”
Parker High’s victorious team members grinned, looked a bit sheepishly at one another and decided to say nothing. What the old professor, who had loyally volunteered to coach them, didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him, because it was never going to happen again.
CRISS-CROSSED SKIS
Skiing is loads of fun. If you don’t believe it, ask Mr. Sylvester B. Turner, who owns the only hill in town worth skiing on. He’ll tell you what fun it is—and if you’re not hit over the head with the nearest thing at hand, you’ll be lucky. But maybe Mr. Turner’s cooled down some since last winter. Honest, he was hot enough that time to have melted snow!
How’d it all happen? Well, you see, we fellows used to slide and ski on Randolph Hill before Mr. Turner bought it. After that, he puts up “Don’t Trespass” signs all over the place but even then we don’t think he means us. The first time we put our feet on his ground, though, he raises an awful holler. And the worst of it is—Mr. Turner’s one and only son, Ronald, tattles on us.
Ronnie, we call him, is a mamma’s boy if there ever was one. He’s thin and scared looking, if you get what I mean—the sort who wears rubbers if there’s a cloud in the sky. You can’t point your finger at him without his running home and telling about it. Talk about sensitive! Mack Sleder asked him “how come his hair wasn’t combed?” one morning and Ronnie almost busts out crying. Perhaps he can’t help it. But you know how fellows are, if a guy acts that way, they poke a lot of fun at him. Ronnie steers pretty clear of us, though. He knows what’s good for him. Besides, Ronnie doesn’t go in for sports. He hates to get bumped or dirtied up and then, too, there’s always the chance of getting hurt.
“What’s the sense in it?” he asks us one time. “I’d much rather sit in a hammock and read a good book.”
“Aren’t you afraid the hammock might turn over with you?” kids Tommy Fox.