“Hello, Frank,” answered Toby without much enthusiasm. “How are you?”
“Oh, fine! How do you like playing on a real team, Toby?”
“Pretty well. I’ll probably like it better when I get more—more used to it. I dare say you found it hard at first, didn’t you?”
“Rather! You wait till you have Crowell and Arn and those chaps shooting at you. Then you’ll know what playing goal really is. Say, I heard that Dave Henry isn’t coming back. Know anything about it?”
Toby shook his head. “No. They were talking about it to-night in Arn’s room, but I got the idea that he expected to get off probation in two or three weeks.”
“Two or three weeks?” Frank repeated calculatingly. “That would make it just before the Broadwood game. Well, I don’t wish him any bad luck, but I’d like it just as well if he didn’t.” Frank grinned and winked expressively. “I’d sort of like to play goal myself against Broadwood, you see.”
“You think that if Henry didn’t get back you’d play?” asked Toby innocently.
“Sure thing! Why not? Who else is there?” asked Frank in surprise. “Unless you think you’re going to do it.” Frank was plainly amused.
“Well, if anything happened to you,” said Toby gravely, “I might have a chance.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Tobias. So don’t set your hope on that,” chuckled Frank. “What could happen, eh?”