Arnold Deering was sixteen years old, Toby’s senior by one year. He was a good-looking chap, with the good looks produced by regularly formed features such as a straight nose, a rounded chin, brown eyes well apart and a high forehead made seemingly higher by brushing the dark brown hair straight back from it. Arnold’s hair always looked as if he had arisen from a barber’s chair the moment before. Some of the summer’s tan still remained, and altogether Arnold looked healthy, normal and likable. He was fairly tall and rather slender, but there was well developed muscle under the smooth skin and his slimness was that of the athlete in training.
Later, by which time the train was running smoothly through the winter fields and woods of Larchmont and Pelham, Toby told of Orson Crowell’s visit and their talk, and Arnold’s eyes opened very wide. “Why, that’s bully!” he exclaimed. “If Orson talked that way, Toby, he means to help you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took you on the scrub team if you showed any sort of playing. He doesn’t often go out of his way to be nice to fellows. I call that lucky! Of course you’ll have a try, after what he told you!”
“I’d like to, but it would take a lot of time, Arn. You know I didn’t go to Yardley just to play hockey and things. I—I’ve got to make enough money to come back next year.”
“Oh, piffle, Toby! What does an hour’s practice in the afternoon amount to? Besides, you played football, and that took more time than hockey. Don’t be an idiot. Why, say, I’ll bet you anything you like that you’ll find yourself on the scrub before the season’s over. And that would be doing mighty well for a fourth class fellow! You’d be almost sure of making the school team next year, Toby!”
“But how do I know I could play hockey? I can skate pretty well; just ordinary skating, you know, without any frills—”
“You don’t need the frills in hockey. What you need is to be able to stay on your feet and skate hard and—and be a bit tricky.”
“Tricky?”
“Yes, I mean able to dodge and make a fellow think you’re going to do one thing and then do another. But staying on your feet is the main thing.”
“And the hardest, I guess. Crowell seemed to think I could play goal, as he called it.”
“We-ell, maybe,” responded Arnold cautiously. “Goal, to my mind, is the toughest position on the team. You wouldn’t have to skate so much, but you’d have to be mighty quick on your feet. And mighty cool, too. But I guess you’d be cool, all right. I never saw you really excited yet!”