Team members glanced about, questioningly. The voice belonged to Don’s understudy, the champion fancy skater. Frederick appeared self-conscious and a bit confused as attention focused upon him.
“You ought to feel like taking Scotty’s grin off,” rapped Rand, mercilessly, “you’re the guy who put it on him!”
“I know it,” answered Frederick, lamely, “but...!”
“Aw, razzberries!” exploded Rand. “We’ve had enough of you already!”
A tired but grim Kirkwood six skated out on the ice to resume hostilities in the third period. Melville, deciding to coast in on the one goal lead, threw up a stiffer defense than ever. As the minutes crawled along, the one goal advantage grew mountainous. Don Keith, handicapped as he was by the weak ankle, had played a stellar game but even his presence in the line-up had failed to penetrate the Melville goal. The visitors were just too good. Hats off to the greatest team a state high school had ever produced!
“Oh, oh—Don is out!” A sympathetic murmur went the rounds as Kirkwood’s right wing was helped to the sidelines.
“Go after ’em, Freddy!” Don called to the man who was to substitute for him, as Frederick got up from the bench, peeling off his sweater. “Don’t let that Scotty kid you! He’d like to make a monkey out of everybody if he could!”
“I know,” Frederick shot back. “I’ve got a score to settle with him!”
Certain fans could not suppress a groan as Frederick, the Great, took Don Keith’s place. But these certain fans had no way of knowing, at the moment, that something had snapped inside the champion fancy skater—a something that had been holding him back for years. First evidence of the change was a collision which took place at mid-ice between party of the first part and one Scotty Lathrom who became party of the second part, and quite the most worsted party, inasmuch as he did a backward somersault following the impact while the party of the first part simply rebounded and set off into Melville territory at a blazing pace.
“Yea, Frederick!” shrieked astonished Kirkwood rooters, as the fellow who had never shown any fighting spirit in a hockey match, zig-zagged through to within fifteen feet of the Melville cage and blazed away. His shot was accurate, a startled Melville goalie warding it off with his chest pad. Frederick became lost the next instant in a slashing pile-up in front of the Melville cage as he threw himself after the puck, trying madly to get his stick on it again and to drive it into the net for a score. It was the first time during the game that Kirkwood had gotten deep within Melville territory and Frederick’s feat was immediately heartening to his fellow players.