There was a good half-inch of water over the rink, and under the water the ice was pitted and soft, especially near the barriers, and now and then the sun would come out for a few minutes and make things worse. No one except Pug and I wore a coat, I think, and we soon wished we hadn’t. Of course fast skating was impossible on a surface like that, and the first period was only about half over when the rink looked as if it had been flooded with white corn meal and water. When one of the players went down, which was far more frequently than usual, he got up wet and dripping; and once when the referee got a skate tangled with some one else’s and slid about six yards in a sitting position, laughter was spontaneous and hearty from both sides of the rink.
Our fellows had already scored twice and Munson once when Pug and I got there, and there wasn’t any more scoring for quite some time. This was largely because no one could shoot very well, having to hunt for the puck in the slush first and then not being able to knock it very far through the water. Several times one side or the other got the puck right in front of the other team’s goal, but usually it got lost and the referee had to blow his whistle and dig it out from somewhere. It was during one of these confused scrambles that Munson scored her second goal. It looked to Pug and me as if one of the Munson fellows had slid the puck in with his skate, and our goal man, Kenton, said so, too. But the umpire behind the net waved his hand in the air and said it was all right, and so that tied the score at 2-all.
It was pretty exciting, and every one was playing as hard as he knew how, and some one was always tumbling down and water flew everywhere. There were a good many penalties, too, and once there were but nine players on the ice, instead of twelve. They didn’t try to do much real skating toward the last, but just ran about digging the points of their skates into the soft ice. There was lots of enthusiasm and cheering, and lots of laughing. Pug was howling about all the time and dancing around on my feet. I tried to restrain him, but he wouldn’t pay much attention to me, declaring that I had been shouting, too, which certainly was a misstatement. When the period was almost over Munson had a remarkable piece of luck, making two goals, one right after the other, and the half ended with the score in her favor, 4 to 2.
The players looked as if they had been in bathing, and MacLean was dripping water even from the end of his nose. Kenton was the wettest, of all, though, and said he had bubbles in his ears. I heard him explaining that the reason Munson had made those two last goals was because his eyes were so full of water he couldn’t see through them. During the intermission MacLean and Madden and the others were trying to figure out how they could win that game in the next half. They had to make five goals now to tie the score of the series and six to win; always supposing they could keep Munson from scoring, too! Norwin suggested getting a puck made of cork so it would float, and MacLean told him to shut his face or talk sense.
“What we need,” said the captain sort of bitterly, “is a couple of guys who can shoot a goal once in six tries!”
“Sure,” agreed Norwin, “but I didn’t notice you shooting many!”
MacLean gave him a haughty look, but he only said: “No, I’m as rotten as you are, Hal. How would it be if we played a five-man attack next half? We’ve got to score somehow. If we can get the puck up to their goal we might get it in. We can’t do it on long shots, that’s sure!”
So they talked about that, and Pug and I, being right behind them, couldn’t help hearing them. And while they were still discussing the matter Pug pulled my sleeve. “Say, Lon,” he said, “why don’t they let Lamar play? He’s a good shot, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but he can’t skate, you idiot,” I answered.