“Maybe you’ll have a chance to stop some of those ‘soft’ ones,” said Arnold crossly to Toby. “Then we’ll see how well you can do it.”
“I’ll bet he’d have stopped that one,” said Gladwin. “What do you say, Warren?”
The second team goal shrugged. “I wasn’t in position to see the shot,” he said. “But I know it’s a mighty easy thing to criticize a goal-tend, Glad. Some of you fellows who think it’s so easy had better get out there sometime and try a few!”
“That’s right,” agreed Arnold. “You have a go at it sometime, Glad. I’ll bet you wouldn’t be so critical of others then.”
“That’s no argument. I’m not a goal. Lamson is, or pretends to be, and—”
“Chuck it, Glad,” advised Jack Curran. “Lamson did the best he could, I guess. What’s the good of throwing the harpoon into him? You wouldn’t like it yourself, would you?”
“Oh, well, what does Arn want to pretend that Lamson’s the finest goal-tend in the world for?” grumbled Gladwin. “I haven’t got anything against Lamson, only—”
“Well, quit knocking him then,” retorted Arnold. “I don’t say he’s a wonder. I say he’s doing the best he knows how, and when a fellow does that—”
“Angels can’t do more,” said Homer Wilkins, soothingly. “Let’s talk about something else for a minute. I’m a bit fed up on Lamson.”
Toby pushed back his chair and Arnold looked up. “Wait for me, Toby, will you?” he asked.