“I’m awfully much obliged to you,” said Toby earnestly. “And I’d like mighty well to have some one shoot for me every day, sir. Only I don’t know many fellows very well. Deering has a recitation when I’m free and so he couldn’t do it, you see.”
“I’ll find some one. What time in the morning could you be at the rink?”
“Between eleven and twelve, sir.”
“All right. You be ready for the day after to-morrow,” was the reply. “If I can’t find any one else I’ll have a go at it myself. Good-night, Tucker.” Mr. Loring held out his hand. “I hope I haven’t bored you with my chatter.”
“Oh, no, sir! Why, I—I’ve had a—a fine time, sir!”
“Have you? Good stuff! Now don’t forget my boy, that you’re to work hard. I’m going to help you. We all will. I want to see you in front of that net three weeks from next Saturday.”
“That—that’s the Broadwood game, sir, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Does that scare you?”
“No, sir, it doesn’t scare me, but I’m afraid I won’t be good enough.”
“In three weeks, my boy, if you buckle down to it you’ll be quite good enough. At least, you’ll be as good or better than any other goal that’s in sight now. If Henry comes back in time—”