“Er—yes, sir, sometimes it does.”
“So I’d think. Why, those aren’t padded at all, Tucker! Where’d you get them? Haven’t you any others?”
“No, sir, I haven’t any others. These are some I had. I—I’ve been thinking of getting some heavier ones—”
“You’d better do it, my boy. Get a good pair of goal-tender’s gloves and throw those away. Those aren’t thick enough to keep your hands warm, and you might very easily get a shot that would break a bone. Can you buy gloves in Greenburg now? You couldn’t when I was here.”
“Yes, sir, they have them at Fessenden’s.”
“Better attend to getting them before you play again. If you’d had a heavy pair on to-day you could have stopped that last shot and saved your team a goal, couldn’t you?”
“I think so. It—it was pretty hard.”
Toby had donned his coat and they were following in the wake of the others up the board-walk to the gymnasium. Toby didn’t know whether to try to fall behind or hurry ahead. It was scarcely conceivable that the coach wanted his company all the way up the hill! But Mr. Loring settled the matter himself just then.
“How long have you been playing goal, Tucker?” he asked.
“About three weeks, sir.”