"Well, if we find any fellow he'll probably be one of the hockey men, and as Roy's the captain it seems to me—"
"Oh, all right. You see what we can do."
Half an hour later Jack was talking it over with Roy.
"I don't know what you can do at racing," he said, "but if you think you'd make any sort of a showing I think you'd ought to try. But you can do as you like."
"I wouldn't stand any chance with that Dutchman," answered Roy, "but if you can't find anyone else I'll race him. I don't mind being beaten."
So the matter stood for the rest of the day, in fact until the next forenoon. Then Roy was paying a call on the menagerie between examinations at the invitation of Harry, who had lately become the proud possessor of a litter of three Angora kittens. Roy's advice was wanted in the delicate matter of deciding which one of the three was to be kept and which two were to be given away to friends at Miss Cutler's. That momentous question decided and the attractive points of the three little bunches of fur having been set forth by Harry, Roy made the rounds of the "cages," as he called the various boxes and receptacles which held the pets. Methuselah had long ago recovered the full use of his voice and was willing to prove the fact on any occasion. He had become quite attached to Roy and would sit on the edge of his box with eyes closed in seraphic bliss as long as Roy would scratch his head. To-day he talked incessantly from the time they entered the "winter quarters," which was an old harness room in a corner of the smallest stable, until they left to walk back over the ice-crusted boards to School Hall. It was during that walk that Roy chanced to tell of Hammond's challenge. Harry was intensely patriotic and the situation worried her for several minutes.
"There isn't a boy here that can skate," she said scornfully. "They're all duffers. Unless—" she shot a glance at Roy—"unless you can?"
"Not much," answered her companion. "I can work around a rink all right enough, but I never skated in a race in my life."
"Then we'll be beaten," said Harry dolefully. "And I hate that iceberg boy!"
"Schonberg," corrected Roy laughingly.