"No, I didn't. But you know mighty well that we don't stand for slugging here, no matter what the other chap does."
"That's all right," muttered Warren, "but if any chap thinks he can slash my shins all the time and not get hurt he's a good bit mistaken."
"Well, don't you try it on when I'm coaching or refereeing," warned Mr. Cobb coldly. "If you do—look out!"
Warren made no reply.
The substitutes and members of the second team had taken possession of the rink and Bacon was guarding goal against the assaults of half a dozen swooping, charging players. At the far end Hammond was perched along the barrier, laughing and fooling, already practically certain of victory. Roy, watching, set his jaws together and resolved that if Hammond added to her present score it would be only after the hardest playing she had ever done!
"You're not going to let them win, are you, Roy?"
Roy turned to find Harry beside him with Spot wriggling and twisting in her arms. Roy petted him and had his cheek licked before he replied. Then,
"I'm afraid we can't keep them from beating us, Harry," he answered, "but we're going to make a lot better showing in this half than we did in the last."
"Does your wrist hurt?" asked Harry, glancing solicitously at the silk bandage about it. Roy shook his head.
"No, but it isn't right strong yet and Mr. Cobb thought I'd better wear this rather than run any danger of putting it out of place again. How's Methuselah?"