“He wouldn’t need to. Nobody’s doing any skating, Lon. They’re all just floundering around on their points. I’ll bet that if they put Lamar in to play—”
I didn’t hear any more, because just then I leaned down and touched MacLean on the shoulder, and when he looked up said: “Pardon me, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, and I’d like very much to make a suggestion—”
“All right,” said MacLean, rather rudely, I thought, “make all you want, kid, but don’t bother me. I’ve got troubles of my own.”
But I persisted, in spite of his scowls, and when he understood what I was driving at he acted quite differently. Of course he made the absurd objection that Lamar couldn’t skate well enough, but I pointed out to him that Lamar could skate as well as any of the players had been skating, and he recognized the wisdom of the suggestion. I must say, however, that he showed small appreciation, for he never even said thank you, but turned right away and yelled for Lamar.
“Lamy,” he said, “can you shoot a few goals if I put you in this half?”
“Sure,” said Lamar. “You let me in there, Hop, and if I don’t make that goal tend of theirs think he’s at the Battle of the Marne you won’t owe me a cent!”
“I’ll owe you a swift kick, though,” growled MacLean. “All right. You take Norwin’s place. We’ll manage to feed the puck to you, I guess. Do your best, Lamy. We’ve got to cop this somehow!”
They had sort of bailed out the rink with brooms and snow shovels and buckets, and when the second half began you could see the ice in most places. Lamar was in Norwin’s place and Norwin was playing in front of the goal. For two or three minutes Munson kept the puck and tried four or five shots before our fellows got it away from her. None of the shots went very near our net, though. After that MacLean got away and pushed the puck up the rink, with the other forwards lined across the ice and Lamar a few feet behind. MacLean tried to pass to Madden, but a Munson fellow hooked the disk away. Then Lamar bumped hard into the Munson player and they both sat down and slid, and Brill got the puck back and every one yelled “Shoot! Shoot!” But Brill passed back to Madden and Madden took the disk in closer, and about that time every one gathered around and sticks pushed and whacked and I couldn’t see the puck at all. The Munson goal man was dodging back and forth, kicking his feet and whanging away with his stick, and his eyes were fairly bulging out of his head. And then, somehow, the puck got hit back up the rink and no one saw it for an instant except Lamar, who had got to his feet again. Lamar dug the points of his skates and raced up to it and, before any of the Munson fellows could reach him, had got the blade of his stick under that puck and made a quick motion with his wrists and there was a streak of water through the air and the umpire behind the goal shouted and threw his hand up!
Well, Pug and I yelled like mad, and so did every one else; every one, of course, except the fifty or sixty Munson fellows who had come along with their team. That made the score 6 to 5. Munson got the puck from the center, but couldn’t keep it, and after a minute Madden slid it across to Brill and Brill started in with it. Then, when a Munson fellow threatened him, pushed it behind him, and that was Lamar’s chance. He was almost in the middle of the rink, but he was alone, and before any one could interfere he had picked that disk out of the slush and sent it, knee high toward the goal. Half a dozen fellows looked to be in the way and some of them tried hard to stop it, but it got by them all and landed in the corner of the net, while the goal man, who had tried to stop it, too, picked himself up and patted the water from the seat of his shorts.