“He asked if I was going to skate. He thought the bag was a skate bag, you see. I told him I had the cup in it.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” continued Gerald, trying hard to recall the conversation, “he asked me to go and get my skates and said the ice was fine. I said I had to report for hockey practice. He asked if I expected to make the team and I said not this year. And then I was cold and came on home.”
“What did you do with the cup while you were talking?”
“I kept it under my arm.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t set it down anywhere—say, on the top of the bridge girder?”
“No, it was under my arm all the time.”
“All right. You brought it straight up here. Didn’t stop anywhere else first?”
“No, I came right up to the room and took the cup out of the bag and put it there. And I tossed the bag about here. Then I went over to the radiator and stood there about ten minutes, I guess, getting my feet and hands warm. And I was looking at the cup and wondering if we would win it. I remember thinking that if Broadwood got it for keeps I’d have dad present another one.”