“I’m glad I haven’t any children,” he murmured. “Well, Gerald, how do you like hockey?”
“Very much, only—I don’t get much chance to play, Alf.”
“Didn’t you get in for a while this afternoon, kid?”
“Yes, just for about three or four minutes.”
“Well, you must remember that there are quite a few fellows who have played longer than you have, Gerald. Besides, if you will pardon personalities, you are just a little bit light.”
“Yes, I know,” agreed Gerald mournfully. “If I was only about twenty pounds heavier I’d be all right.” He looked wonderingly at the others as they laughed.
“You’re all right as you are,” answered Alf heartily. “We’ll make a hockey player of you yet. But I don’t honestly think, Gerald, that you need expect to make the First much before next year.”
Gerald’s face fell, and his disappointment was so evident that Tom tried to break the force of the blow.
“Anyway, Gerald, you’ve had pretty near enough glory for one year, haven’t you? Making the Cross-Country Team and winning the meet with Broadwood was going some for a youngster.”