“Did you win?” asked Dan, scenting a story.
“No, we lost,” replied Tom, going on with his writing.
“Tell him how, Tom,” said Alf with a chuckle.
“Dead easy,” answered Tom with a reminiscent smile. “The first half ended three to two in our favor and we were feeling pretty cheerful. But when we began again one of our fellows—Nickerson—he was playing cover-point—did something that didn’t please the referee and got put off for the limit; two minutes, I think it was. Then Clarke got down to business and made things hot around goal. I stopped about four shots in as many seconds and then there was a mix-up in front of the net and someone laid open my head with his stick. When I came around again I found they’d scored on us. I tried to go back and play but I was too dizzy to stand up and they made me quit and put in a sub named Baxter. Baxter meant well, but he was so excited that he couldn’t see straight. And along toward the end of the half, with the score tied, Clarke rushed the puck again and took a shot. Baxter stopped it with foot and it got stuck between his skate and his boot. Instead of calling for time or doing anything sensible he just stood there and shook his foot like a hen with mud between her toes. Well, at about the sixth shake the puck came out and flew into the net. That gave Clarke one goal to the good. We all called Baxter names, and that got him more excited and nervous than ever. And then, with about a minute to play the puck came down again with everyone squabbling over it. Baxter’s eyes just stood out of his head and he made a dash out of goal, got the puck somehow or other and deliberately swiped into his own goal! Oh, he made quite a hit that day for a sub!”
“I’ll bet he did!” laughed Dan. “I suppose you fellows all loved him to death.”
“We did—not,” grunted Tom. “It was funny about Baxter, though,” he added thoughtfully. “He graduated last year, and about a month later he was going over from New York to Boston with his folks on that steamer that caught fire; what was its name, Alf?”
“Independence.”
“Yes. The fire didn’t amount to a whole lot in the end, but for awhile things looked a bit bad. Well, the papers the next day made a regular hero of Baxter. According to them he was the life of the party. Had a fine time and enjoyed every minute of his visit. He bossed folks around, strapped life-preservers on fat old ladies, helped launch the boats and was as cool as a cucumber. It just shows that you never can tell, don’t it?”
“Where is he now?” asked Dan.