“How are you on the outer-edge, old man?” asked Hal. Pete continued to grin.
Then the puck came sliding down toward him, dribbled this way and that by the hockey of an opposing forward. Pete drew himself together, grasped his stick in both hands as though it was a bludgeon, and rushed toward the foe. Down went the foe, and the three admirers laughed joyfully. But Pete didn’t get the puck, for the vanquished one had succeeded in passing it across to another forward, exhibiting the first suggestion of team-play of the afternoon, so far as the second team was concerned, and Pete skated wildly in pursuit. The point went out to meet the attack, another clever pass was made, and then— Presto! goal was shaking his head and pulling the disk out from under the netting. The second had scored.
“Ah, that was great work, Pete!” cried Allan, admiringly.
“That was playing!” said Hal. “Oh, it was great!”
“Real science, I call it!” declared Tommy. “How’d you do it, Pete?”
“Don’t you mind their scoring, Pete,” said Allan, encouragingly. “You knocked your man down. Just you kill all you want to.”
Pete skated over and scattered them with his hockey.
“You wait till I get these skates off,” he threatened, “and I’ll roll you three little snipes in the snow!”
“Don’t waste your strength on us, Pete,” begged Tommy from a safe distance. “Slaughter the enemy. Don’t be discouraged; there’s only six left.”
“Eat ’em up, Pete!” cried Hal.