But winter was only sulking in his tent, and on Tuesday morning the thermometer began to go down. By night the mercury was hovering about thirty and Alf went to sleep hopefully. The ground was hard in the morning, but the noon sun thawed it out again. Alf never entered or emerged from Oxford that he didn’t pause to scowl at the big thermometer by the door. Toward evening a breeze sprang out of the north and the mercury dropped ten degrees in half an hour. Moreover, it continued to drop all night and in the morning it showed twenty-one degrees. The weather was cloudy and at noon it was snowing fitfully. The rink was frozen smooth and hard and practice began again that afternoon. Alf once more wore a cheerful countenance. In the locker room at the gymnasium afterwards he called across to Gerald: “Say, Gerald, we’ve got to get that cup back before the game. Do you mind doing it? You’d better run over to-morrow if you can find time.”
“All right,” answered Gerald. “I’ll attend to it, Alf. I suppose he will give it to me, won’t he?”
“Who? Proctor? I guess so, but I’ll give you an order. Remind me to write it this evening.”
Gerald’s opportunity came after dinner the following day. He had no recitations between two and three and so, armed with Alf’s note to the store proprietor, he tramped over to Greenburg in the teeth of a northeast gale and got the cup. He wanted very much to warm himself with a hot chocolate, but they had agreed that it would be wise to stay away from Wallace’s until last week’s episode of the broken glasses had been forgotten, and, since Wallace’s was the only place where they knew how to prepare a hot chocolate properly, Gerald was forced to start on his homeward trip without refreshment. The cup was in its maroon-colored flannel bag and he tucked it under his arm so that his hands might have the benefit of his coat pockets. When he reached the bridge over the river he heard his name called and, looking down, saw Harry Merrow on the ice. There were several other boys with him, mostly youngsters, and Jake Hiltz was sitting near by struggling with a refractory skate strap.
“Going to skate?” asked Harry. Gerald shook his head and danced up and down in the effort to bring warmth into his numbed toes. Harry eyed the maroon bag.
“What are you doing with your skates, then?” he inquired.
“It’s not skates,” said Gerald. “It’s the hockey cup. I’ve been over to Greenburg for it.”
“Oh, I thought you had your skates there. Why don’t you get them and come on down? The ice is dandy.”
“I’ve got hockey practice in half an hour, Harry.”