“A minute and a half, cap!” called Andy Ryan. Alf heard and waved his hand, skating across to the bench.
“Sanderson, you go in for Felder,” he called. “Ridge at right center, Eisner at right end, Pennimore at left center. Hurry up now!”
The changes were made, the deposed players trailing regretfully from the ice to the tune of Yardley cheers.
“That’s a risk, isn’t it, Alf?” asked Dan anxiously, as Alf came back to position. “Putting Gerald in, I mean.”
“He deserves it,” answered Alf. “Keep your eyes open, Dan. There’s only a minute and a half. If we can stave them off we’ll have a rest and come back at them hard next period.”
The puck dropped to the ice and play went on again. There was evident now a disposition on each side to abandon team work and Dan cautioned and implored almost unceasingly. Both teams were anxious to score and the result was that for the next minute neither came near doing it. Then, with less than half a minute to play, Hanley started off with the puck, pursued by the Broadwood forwards, his own mates trying desperately to get into position to help him. Down near the Green’s goal the cover point challenged him and Hanley passed to the left in the hope that some one of his side would be there to take the puck. As it happened some one was there. It was Gerald, out of position and intent only on getting the disk. Two Broadwood fellows reached for it, but Gerald, skating fast, slashed their sticks aside, got the puck, lost it, recovered it again with a half turn, charged toward the cage and shot blindly. As he did so the point drove into his shoulder first. Gerald’s stick flew into air and Gerald himself left his feet with a bound and went crashing to the ice ten feet away. But blue-tipped sticks were waving wildly in air and Yardley cheers were ringing triumphantly, for the puck lay snugly against the net at the back of Broadwood’s goal.
Alf was the first to reach Gerald’s side and his first glimpse of the pale face frightened him badly. Andy Ryan hurried on and between them Gerald was lifted up and carried off the ice and laid on the substitute’s bench with a pile of sweaters under his head and a gayly hued dressing gown over his body.
“Is he hurt badly?” whispered Alf.
Andy’s hands went down under the dressing gown. Then he shook his head cheerfully.
“Stunned a bit,” he answered. “That’s all. He hit on his head, likely. I’ll look after him. You go back.”