“Well, I know, Kid, but I can’t give you that! That’s—that’s owing to the Fund!”
“I know, but you won’t have to pay up for a month or more. You give me that quarter and put the next one into the Fund; see?”
Small didn’t seem to see at first, and it took a lot of eloquence on Kid’s part to separate Small from his twenty-five cent piece. But finally persistence prevailed and Kid strolled off, the quarter jingling cheerfully against a hitherto lonely penny in his trousers pocket, leaving Small to scowl upon his retreating back and surreptitiously remove the remains of Tinkham’s Throat-Ease tablet from his mouth.
Lanny was the next victim marked for despoliation. Kid took up a position beside him and watched practice for a minute. Then,
“Gee, Lanny,” he said, “aren’t your feet frozen?”
Lanny acknowledged that they were, and, being reminded of physical discomforts, took out a handkerchief at the cost of much trouble, and applied it to his nose. “Did you see that goal of Ben’s a minute ago, Kid?” he asked with a sniffle. “It was a peach!”
“Yes,” Kid nodded gravely. “Say, you’re getting a cold, aren’t you?” he asked more solicitously.
“No, I guess not. George is skating a good deal better than he did the first of the winter, isn’t he?”
“Lots. The trouble with me is that when I get to sniffling like you are my throat feels funny. Sort of raw and—and scrapy. Does yours get that way?”