“We had the game sewed up until Lamson made that rotten fluke,” he declared. “Gee, a child could have stopped that shot! The puck wasn’t even going fast!”
“I don’t believe any fellow would have stopped it,” answered Arnold stoutly. “I was right there and I saw it. Frank whisked it to the right and it hit off some one’s skate and a Warren chap had a clean path to the net. It was all done in a second and Frank didn’t have time to get into position again.”
“Piffle! He was standing right by the left post when the shot was made,” returned Gladwin. “If he had kept his eye on the puck he’d have seen it and stopped it with his body. The trouble was he lost sight of it. I tell you, if you’re going to play goal—”
“Oh, you make me tired,” said Arnold shortly. “If a goal-tend could stop every shot no one would ever win a game!”
“I don’t expect him to stop every shot, but when it comes to an easy one like that—”
“It wasn’t an easy one, I tell you. It may have looked easy to you sitting on the bench—”
“It sure did! And it looked easy to every one else except you and Lamson, I guess. You saw it, Tucker. Did it look to you to be a hard shot to stop?”
Toby hesitated an instant. As a matter of fact, he considered Frank Lamson’s failure to make the stop quite excusable, but he wasn’t feeling very kindly toward Frank, nor toward Arnold either. “It looked pretty soft to me,” he answered.
“Sure!” said Gladwin, triumphantly. “That’s just what it was, soft!”