Don’t crease them much above the knees,
For that’s against the style,
But press the cuffs down very flat,
So they will stay awhile.
William Shakespeare Curran.”
Awful rot, Toby thought.
CHAPTER XVII
THE GRAY CARD
There was no summons from the Office that day, and Toby began to take hope. By evening he was in quite an equable state of mind, thanks, perhaps, to an hour and a half of hard work on the rink. There’s nothing much better than outdoor exercise to restore a fellow’s mind to a normal condition. And for one twenty-minute period Toby had played goal against the second seven and for an hour before that had taken part in a hard, brisk practice, his visit to the bench having been of a scant ten-minute duration. Animated by the desperate resolve to wreak vengeance on Frank Lamson by beating him out for the position of first choice goal, Toby had worked harder than he ever had before, with the result that his playing had been almost of the spectacular kind during the time he had guarded the first team’s goal. Henry, who had been at the rink looking on a bit disconsolately, had told him afterwards, enthusiasm struggling against depression, that he had “knocked them down in great shape, Tucker, my lad, and no bally mistake about it!” And Toby had gone back to the gymnasium feeling a bit proud of himself and hugging the thought that revenge against Frank Lamson was certain and overwhelming. And then, in the upper hall, he had run plumb against Frank!