“I never saw a finer one,” agreed Rand. “But then, Broadwood is full of beautiful things.”
“It’s a real privilege to live here,” continued Joe. “No wonder we see so many, many happy faces!”
The Broadwood youths frowned suspiciously as they passed, and one of them let fall a remark about “fresh guys.” But Yardley only chuckled.
“I think it’s a very fine building,” ventured Gerald in a puzzled tone to Tom Dyer. Tom laughed.
“It is,” he whispered, “but you’re not supposed to say so!”
The party passed on to view the gymnasium and one of the fellows expressed a desire to see the trophy room.
“I’ve heard a lot about the Broadwood trophy room,” he explained. “They say there’s a fine collection of croquet balls and checkers in it!”
While this joke was being passed around, the two hockey teams emerged, and the Yardley crowd followed them down to the rink, an expanse of ice secured by flooding the tennis courts. That game was a farce in more ways than one. In the first place the ice was rotten and before the game was five minutes old the surface was badly cut up and covered with loose ice and slush. Broadwood showed herself more accustomed to such conditions than her rival, and wasn’t greatly bothered. On the other hand, Yardley, used to thick, hard ice of the river, floundered about, as Tom said, like hens in a snow bank. Then, to make matters worse, Yardley was outplayed from the first whistle, and it was only the really phenomenal work of her goal-tender that prevented her from being literally swamped in the first half.
The Yardley contingent lined one side of the rink and waved its blue flags and cheered nobly, but the green of Broadwood was in the ascendant to-day. The first half ended with the score three to one for Broadwood, a score that didn’t begin to show the real superiority of the Green. Alf perched himself on the barrier beside Dan and Gerald and Tom, rueful and weary. Dan helped him into his sweater.
“Fine, isn’t it?” asked Alf with a grin.