“Kirkwell’s a dirty player,” said Greene. “Pass some of that cheese, will you?—He played last year, you know, and Jasper caught him slugging once in the game with the Yates freshmen and put him off. Jasper’s St. Eustace’s captain,” he explained to Wayne. “He’s an awfully decent chap, too, and he promised me to-day that Kirkwell shouldn’t play again if he could help it.”
“Dave, Wallace was up yesterday to ask about the hockey team—wants you and me to join again. He’s got seven games arranged; one with St. Eustace and one with a high school club at Troy, or somewhere. Want to go in?” And Don poised a tart in front of his mouth and waited a reply.
“I guess so. You going to try, Paddy?”
“I might. There’s lots of time to decide. There’ll be no decent ice on the river, I dare say, for a month yet.”
“I’m going to try for it,” continued Don. “We had lots of fun last year. Can you skate, Wayne?”
Wayne hesitated and munched a sandwich.
“Yes, I can skate,” he said finally. “But——”
“Then you’d better report next Saturday in the gym,” said Don. “Greene, are you trying for a scholarship this term?” Greene sighed.
“Trying? Oh, yes, I’m trying; but I haven’t the least idea of making it. But I’m going to buckle down now and put in some hard licks at grinding. I suppose you’re sure of one, aren’t you, you lucky beggar?”