“You see, sonny, what you Hillton kids want to do is to learn how to skate, see? There ain’t any use trying to play hockey until you can skate.”
Trevor turned and smiled very sweetly.
“Perhaps you think you can skate?” he asked in a tone of polite inquiry.
“I have a hunch that way,” replied Billings with a swagger.
“That’s very nice,” answered Trevor, “because you don’t look as though you could, you know.”
A circle of interested Hilltonians had already formed, and were grinning their appreciation. Billings appeared somewhat astounded for an instant. Then he thrust his jaw out aggressively, and asked angrily:
“Say, what’s the matter with you, kid? Do you think you can teach me anything about skating?”
“Well, of course, I’m a month or two younger than you, you know”—here the crowd snickered impolitely—“but I rather fancy that I can beat you by a few yards in a half-mile race. Would you care to try?”
For a moment Billings looked doubtful. Possibly he thought that he had unwittingly encountered the school’s crack skater, and feared for the result. If he did the idea was dispelled by Trevor’s next remark.
“They don’t call me much of a skater here, you know; we have several fellows who can beat me without trouble, but they’re all rather busy just at present, and so, if you don’t mind putting up with something ordinary, I’ll be glad to show you what I can about skating.” The gentle patronage of Trevor’s tones was beautiful, and the audience hugged itself gleefully. Billings laughed loudly and scornfully.