“Yes, sir! I’ll stop them if it can be done, Mr. Loring.”
And then, presently, they were at it again, with the twilight fast creeping down over the scene and the half-frozen spectators once more forgetting their misery in the excitement and suspense of those two final periods. Science went to the discard now, however, and it was every man for himself. Both teams tried desperately to score by hook or by crook. Penalties came fast and furious, and at one time each team was reduced to five players! The whistle shrilled constantly for off-side plays. The puck was swept up the rink and back again. Shots from the very middle of the ice were frequently attempted and seldom rolled past the points. The players became so weary that they could scarcely keep their feet under them. Substitutes dropped over the boards and first-string players wobbled off with hanging heads and trailing sticks. And all the time Yardley at the barriers cheered and shouted and implored a victory. But it was not to be. One period ended, the teams changed their goals and the next began. Toby, finding it hard now to see the puck at any distance, screwed his eyes up and peered anxiously every minute. But only three times in the last ten minutes was his skill called into play and none of the shots which thumped against his pads was difficult to stop. At the other end of the rink, the opposing goal-tend had an even easier time, for Yardley was seldom threatening. And then, suddenly, the whistle shrilled for the last time and the game was over. And Yardley and Rock Hill gathered in two little groups in the fast-gathering darkness and limply and weakly cheered for each other. And although the Blue hadn’t won, and although she pretended to be downcast over the result, she was nevertheless secretly very well satisfied with the inconclusive contest, because, just between you and me, Rock Hill had outplayed her in every position save one. And that one position was goal.
CHAPTER XXI
THE RESCUE
Toby rather dreaded meeting Frank Lamson after that game. Now that he had conquered, and something told him that, barring accidents, he was certain of the goal position for the rest of the season, the victory seemed much less glorious. In spite of himself, for he tried to be stern and judicial, he was sorry for Frank. Of course Frank didn’t deserve any sympathy; no fellow did who was guilty of what Frank was guilty of; but, just the same, the sympathy was there and Toby had to sort of put his heel on it every now and then to keep it from rising up and making him uncomfortable. If only Frank hadn’t been so—so sort of decent of late, it would have been easier! But when a fellow seeks you out and shows plainly that he likes to talk to you, why, it’s hard not to entertain a sneaking liking for him! And, besides that, Frank was Arnold’s friend, and in spite of the fact that everything was quite all over between Toby and Arnold and they were never, never going to speak to each other again, Toby still had a weak dislike of doing anything to hurt Arnold’s feelings. Of course it was silly and all that, but there it was! On the whole, Toby wasn’t nearly as happy that Saturday evening as he should have been, considering the fact that the whole school was talking about him playing and giving him every bit of credit that was to be given for staving off a defeat at the hands of Rock Hill.
The meeting which he dreaded didn’t take place until the next day. It was rumored that evening that Frank Lamson had been taken sick and had had to leave the rink, which accounted for the fact that he hadn’t been available when wanted to substitute Toby. As no one guessed the emotions of anger and outrage which had prompted Frank’s retirement, the explanation was accepted at face value. It is possible that Frank, having recovered his temper, made that explanation to Mr. Loring. I don’t know as to that. But I do know that Frank was back at practice on Monday very much as though nothing had happened.
It was Monday noon when Toby, taking a short-cut from the village, encountered Frank and Arnold on the foot-path that leads up the Prospect. He didn’t see them until he was nearly on them and it was then too late to turn back or avoid them. Toby, conscious of the blood flowing to his cheeks, would have nodded and muttered a greeting and gone on, but Frank was of another mind. Frank didn’t look particularly amiable, possibly because he had been in the midst of an indignant tirade against Coach Loring, and Toby wanted very, very much to keep right on. He couldn’t, though, because Frank deliberately barred his path.
“Hello, Toby,” he said growlingly. “I suppose you’re feeling pretty big to-day, eh? A regular hero and all that, what?”
“No, I’m not feeling big at all,” he answered. Arnold had drawn back a step or two and was looking down the hill. “I heard you were sick yesterday, Frank. I hope you’re all right to-day.”