“If you missed the second you might make a class team. They have some good games and a heap of fun. You tell Arn Deering what I say. Tell him I said he was to bring you out after you get back.”
“All right, I’ll tell him,” agreed Toby. “He’s been after me, anyway. To try hockey, I mean. Does it cost much?”
“No. You’ve got skates, I suppose? Well, all you need is something to wear. The club supplies sticks. Three or four dollars will do it. Do you know, Tucker, I fancy you might make a pretty good goal?”
“Goal?” repeated Toby in alarm. “To shoot the puck at?”
“I mean goal-tend,” laughed Crowell. “But it amounts to much the same. You get shot at all right!”
“But you don’t do much skating if you mind goal, do you?” objected Toby.
“Not a great deal, but it’s a hard position to play well, son. Good goal-tenders are scarcer than hens’ teeth!”
“I wouldn’t mind trying it,” said the other. “Where do you play, Crowell?”
“We have a couple of rinks down by the river, beyond the tennis courts. Sometimes the class teams play on the river, but you can’t always be certain of your ice there. We’re going to have a hard time beating Broadwood this year, for they’ve got two peachy players. Either one is better than any chap we have. Hello, all done?”
“Yes. They aren’t very dry yet, so you’d better spread them out when you get them home so they won’t wrinkle.”