“Not that baby!” scoffed Rand. “He’s got chronic cold feet. You’ll never see him make a showing where he’s got to swap bumps with someone else. He says himself that’s not his idea of sport. Personally, I wouldn’t get any kick out of running races or making fancy doodads on the ice. I’d just as soon take up crocheting.”
The Kirkwood ice hockey squad laughed. It had been a hard, tense season with little opportunity to relax against an unusually high brand of competition. That Kirkwood had managed to remain a contender for the state interscholastic ice hockey championship, despite the absence of dependable spares, had been due to the heroic effort of the original six and the excellent guidance of Coach Howard. His latest move, however, in recruiting Frederick, the Great, as a hockey player, had appeared a psychological mistake, affecting as it had, the team’s morale. Even sporting accounts of the game were none too complimentary.
“Fred Barker, playing his third game at left wing for Kirkwood,” said the Daily Eagle, “still left much to be desired. Making allowance for the fact that ice hockey is new to the champion fancy skater, Barker, in the judgment of this sports writer, should be entering more into the spirit of the game and teaming up better with his mates. Time and again, on capturing the puck, he seemed at a loss as to what to do with it, taking some pretty turns about the ice which promised much but produced nothing. Coach Howard still seems of the opinion that Barker is going to fill Don Keith’s skating shoes but, on the basis of his performance today, he will have to come along rapidly to even approach Don’s stellar ability. Keith-to-Downey-to-Keith used to be the pass combination which brought scores for Kirkwood. Either that or the reverse: Downey-to-Keith-to-Downey with the resultant shot for goal. But Kirkwood has lost her scoring punch, temporarily at least—a punch she sorely needs in the coming battle against Melville, a sextet possessing such defensive power that not a goal has been scored against her the entire season!”
“I suppose you read the papers,” was Coach Howard’s greeting to Frederick, the Great, Barker on calling him aside at the next practice session.
“Yes, sir,” Frederick replied, in a disinterested tone.
“That being the case, it saves me breath,” said the coach. “The accounts of your playing were fairly accurate.”
“I thought so myself,” agreed Frederick.
“But you can do better than this. Why, man—you haven’t begun to let yourself out yet! I’ve seen your fancy skating exhibitions and I know what you can do—your daring leaps and whirls. That airplane dive, as you call it, is one of the most hairbreadth things I’ve ever seen on skates.”
Frederick’s face spread into a slow smile.
“That isn’t bad, is it?”