“And usually succeed,” said Tom with a grin. “I’ve played goal myself.”
“Yes, they usually have plenty of fun with me, whether they get the puck in or not. I try to make myself big enough to cover the whole opening, but I can’t do it. So I dodge around from this side to that and do a sort of war dance on my skates and flourish my stick about. And all that time they’re rapping me on the hands and banging my ankles, and the puck looks like twenty pucks and is all over the shop. And usually Alf is lying on his back on the ice yelling, ‘Get it away from there! Get it away from there!’”
Alf joined in the laugh. “Well, Dan,” he said, “you see I play point, and the point is to keep out of danger.”
“That’s a sorry jest,” groaned Tom.
“It’s worse than that,” said Dan. “How’s basket ball getting on, by the way?”
“Fine and dandy,” Tom answered. “We do up Broadwood a week from Saturday; first game, you know.”
“Here or at Broadwood?”
“Here. And, say, you chaps, can’t you come along to New York with us on the thirtieth? It’s our first trip to the metropolis and we’re feeling sort of stuck up about it. Collins wouldn’t think of it at first, but I showed him that we could leave here in the morning and get back for supper; so he consented.”
“I’m afraid we can’t, Tom,” said Alf, “for we have an engagement right here that afternoon. The Yale Freshmen play us, you know.”