Step was grinning. “Oh, he tried to butt into the hockey game, but the fellows gave him the cold shoulder. So he had to flock by himself till he saw the young ’uns. He’s with ’em now, teasing and tormenting ’em, I reckon.”
Sam struck out with the experimental feeling of one on runners for the first time in months; made a wide circle, and came back to Step.
“Bit rusty, but I’ll get the swing all right in an hour or so,” he reported.
Step brought him back to the previous question, so to speak.
“What do you want? Don’t mean to fight him on skates, do you?”
“Certainly not,” said Sam testily. “What put such a notion in your head?”
“Well, what are you here for?” demanded Step pointedly.
“Don’t expect to have a fight before all this crowd, do you?”
“Seems to me you’re getting awful fussy.”
“I am, if ‘fussy’ consists in objecting to scrapping with half the town rubbering.”