CHAPTER IX
THE HOCKEY MATCH
The balance of the week was a busy time for Dick. His usual hour ofstudy before supper was dropped, and he spent that time with everyother spare moment in trying to recruit candidates for the crews.He buttonholed boys in classroom and even in chapel, pursued themacross the frozen Yard, waylaid them in the corridors, and beardedthem in their dens; and all with small success. Those who displayed awillingness to go in for rowing were almost invariably younger fellowswhose ambitions were better developed than their muscles. Those whomDick longed to secure had an excuse for every inducement he could setforth. The seniors pleaded lessons; the upper middle fellows were goingin for baseball, cricket, anything save rowing; the lower class boyswere unpromising to a degree; and when Saturday came he found thatout of a possible ten recruits the most promising was a long-legged,pasty-faced youth who had been dropped from the hockey team and whosedesperate desire to distinguish himself in some manner was aloneaccountable for his complaisance.
That Taylor and Crocker and some of the other candidates had beenbusy was evident from the first--Taylor especially, Dick told himselfbitterly.
“Try for the crew?” said one senior whom Dick approached, “why, RoyTaylor was speaking to me about it, and I promised him I’d think itover. But I don’t see how I can, Hope; you know yourself how beastlyhard the studies are this term; I’m an awful duffer at mathematics, andGerman, too; and then as for physics--well, really I can’t see how I’mever going to pass.” And when Dick pointed out modestly enough that he(Dick) had the same studies and was going in for rowing, and expectedto graduate notwithstanding, the other waived the argument asidecarelessly: “Oh, _you_, Hope! You’re different; you’re one of thoselucky beggars that never have any trouble with lessons. Why, if I waslike you I wouldn’t hesitate an instant; I’d say put me down for thecrew right away. But as it is---- By the way, is it true that you’veonly got twenty candidates?”
“Who told you that?” asked Dick.
“Taylor, I think. That isn’t very many, is it? I don’t see how you’llget a crew out of that.”
“Nor do I,” muttered Dick, as he turned away discouraged.
When Saturday came, bringing Carl Gray at two o’clock with thesuggestion that Dick join him and witness the hockey match with St.Eustace, the latter concluded that he had earned a vacation, and sodonned his warmest sweater and jacket and allowed himself to be tornaway from the subject of candidates. As the two lads crossed the yardtoward the steps that led down to the river by the boat-house theyencountered Trevor, who, when their destination was made known to him,turned about and joined them. It was a bitterly cold day, and the wind,sweeping down the broad river, nipped ears and noses smartly. Despitethis, however, a fair-sized audience had assembled on the ice near thelanding, where a rink had been marked out, and were either circlingabout on skates or tramping to and fro to keep warm.
“Haven’t begun yet,” said Carl Gray as they reached the head of thesteps. “Looks as though they were having a debate instead of a hockeymatch.”
As they reached the ice they saw that the captain of the Hillton team,an upper middle youth named Grove, was in earnest conversation with aSt. Eustace player--apparently the captain of the opposing team--whilea circle of interested boys surrounded them. As the three approachedthe gathering broke up, and Grove, spying Dick, came toward him lookingangry and indignant.
“Say, Hope, what do you think? St. Eustace wants to play that big dubover there; see him? The fellow with the white sweater. Why, he’stwenty-two if he’s a day! And he isn’t a St. Eustace fellow at all;Brown knows him. He lives at Marshall and works in a mill or something.I’ve told French that we wouldn’t play if they put him on. Don’t youthink that’s right?”
“He does look rather big and aged for a St. Eustace chap,” replied Dickwith a grin. “And of course if you’re certain he’s an outsider you’reright not to give in. What does the St. Eustace captain say?”
“Oh, he says the fellow’s a day scholar; that he’s only eighteen; andthat they haven’t brought any subs, and that if Billings--that’s themucker’s name--if Billings can’t play there won’t be any game.”
“Queer thing to come all the way up here without any subs,” said Carl.“But I tell you what you can do, Grove; offer to lend them a man. Whatdoes Billings play?”
“Forward,” grumbled Grove. “We might do that. Who could we give them?”
“You’d have to give them a good player,” said Dick.
“I suppose so. Well, there’s Perry over there.”
“No, you don’t,” laughed Dick. “I know Perry; I talked with him theother day; he’s the fellow you dropped from the team last week.” Grovelooked sheepish.
“Well, what business have they got trying such tricks?” he mutteredin extenuation. “I guess I’ll offer them Jenkins; he really is a goodplayer, Hope; you know that yourself; I’ll put Dennison in his place.And if I do they’ll likely beat us.”
“Let ’em. Go ahead and make the offer.”
Grove sped away and promptly returned with the announcement thatSt. Eustace had agreed. “But we want another goal umpire. Will youact, Hope?” Dick would, and was led away. The rink was cleared ofspectators, and Trevor and Carl found places of observation on theside-line. The opposing teams took their places. The Hillton playerswore crimson sweaters and stockings; before the St. Eustace goal weresix blue-clad youths and one crimson, the latter being Jenkins, theborrowed forward. Grove and French, the St. Eustace captain, faced thepuck, the referee cried “Play!” and the game was on.
It proved a brilliant game, despite the high wind that seriouslyhandicapped the side having the down-river goal. Hillton’s playingin the first half was quick and plucky, and for the first ten of thetwenty minutes St. Eustace’s goal was almost constantly in danger. Buttry after try was foiled by the brilliant work of the Blue’s goal-tend,who time and again won the applause of the shivering audience. Then St.Eustace secured the puck and forced the playing, and for a few minutesHillton seemed to be taken off her feet. A beautifully lifted strokefinally sent the puck skimming through Hillton’s goal, and the St.Eustace players waved their sticks in delight. Hillton braced when playbegan again, and was dribbling the disk threateningly toward the Blue’sgoal when time was called.
“I wish I had Jenkins back,” complained Grove as, bundled in hisblanket, he joined Trevor and Carl. “He played better than any fellowon our team--or theirs either, for that matter.”
“Who shot that goal?” asked Carl.
“French; it was a dandy. Our little friend Billings yonder looks mad,doesn’t he?”
The displaced player had joined the St. Eustace team, and was evidentlybemoaning his fate. He was a tall, freckle-faced youth who, as Grovehad said, appeared every day of twenty-one or two. He had a slouchystoop to his shoulders, but nevertheless looked dangerous as a hockeyplayer. Dick joined the other three lads.
“I just heard your freckled-faced friend explaining why it is you’llnever make a good player, Grove,” he announced. “He says you don’t getlow enough; says he could put you off your feet easily.”
“He does, eh?” grunted Grove. “I wish we’d let him play; I’d put himoff _his_ feet, the big mucker!”
“There, there, keep your sweet little temper,” laughed Dick. “And comeon; time’s up.” The crowd took up its position along the boundary linesagain, and again the puck was put in play. Hillton had good luck at thestart. Superb team work on the part of the crimson-clad forwards tookthe disk down to within striking distance of their opponents’ goal, anda quick drive by Grove sent it through. St. Eustace’s goal-tend lookedsurprised and vexed, and the audience cheered delightedly. Four minuteslater the same proceeding was repeated, and after two ineffectual triesthe puck slid through between the goal-tend’s skates just where heapparently didn’t expect it to go. That was Dennison’s score, and againthe onlookers voiced their pleasure. The score was now two to one inHillton’s favor, and St. Eustac
e shook herself together and playedhard. For ten minutes neither side scored. Then, by a brilliant rushdown the side of the rink, Jenkins, the borrowed player, fooled theHillton cover-point, and, aided by French, ran past point and liftedthe disk through between the Hillton posts--a difficult shot that wonhim lots of applause. The score was now tied, with a scant five minutesof play left.
Trevor and Carl, deeply intent on the game, suddenly had theirattention diverted by a voice from near at hand. “What do you thinkof that, now? What do those fellers in red think they’re playing,billiards? O-oh, ain’t that awful!” It was the deposed St. Eustaceforward, Billings, who was celebrating the Blue’s recent goal, andrevenging himself on his enemies by ridiculing the home players. Carlglared, and the throng surrounding him looked hostile to a boy.
“He ought to have sense enough to keep his mouth shut,” said Carl.
“Yes, but he’s got pluck to talk that way in this crowd,” repliedTrevor with a grin.
“Not a bit; he knows he’s safe enough. It isn’t likely that fifty orsixty fellows would jump on one lone chap, no matter how cheeky hewas.”
The ridicule continued, but after the first recognition of the affrontthe throng of Hilltonians tacitly ignored the freckle-faced youth;indeed, in another minute his existence was forgotten, for with buta couple of minutes to play St. Eustace’s point secured the puck,and with a fine stroke sent it sailing down the rink into Hilltonterritory, where a misplay on the part of the Crimson’s cover-pointgave Jenkins his opportunity, and the next instant Hillton’s goal wasbesieged. A stroke at close quarters was blocked, and the disk skimmedtoward the side of the rink, only to be again recovered and dribbledforward until it was once more in the possession of the redoubtableJenkins. There was a rush by Grove and another Hillton forward, thesound of clashing sticks, and then out from the _mêlée_ like a shotfrom a cannon sped the puck, straight for the goal and about two feetabove the ice. The Hillton goal-tend leaped to the left and turned toreceive the disk on his padded thigh. But he was too late. The puckstruck him, but was only slightly deflected, and in another momentthe St. Eustace sticks were waving high in air, and the goal-tend,crestfallen and dazed, was ruefully rubbing his hip. Hillton returnedresolutely to the battle, and the puck was again faced, but time wascalled ere it was well out of the scrimmage, and the game was St.Eustace’s by three goals to two. Trevor turned away in disappointment,and was confronted by the triumphant Billings, who was whirling hisstick about his head and grinning provokingly.
“Oh, easy, easy! Those kids can’t play hockey; they ought to be athome doing needlework.” Carl muttered something uncomplimentary, andTrevor reddened as they pushed their way through the dissolving throng.Billings, spying Trevor as he approached, thrust himself in his path.
“Say, sonny, why don’t you kids learn the game?”
Trevor strove to keep his temper and pass, but the Marshall youth laida determining hand on his arm.
“You see, sonny, what you Hillton kids want to do is to learn how toskate, see? There ain’t any use trying to play hockey until you canskate.”
Trevor turned and smiled very sweetly.
“Perhaps you think you can skate?” he asked in a tone of polite inquiry.
“I have a hunch that way,” replied Billings with a swagger.
“That’s very nice,” answered Trevor, “because you don’t look as thoughyou could, you know.”
A circle of interested Hilltonians had already formed, and weregrinning their appreciation. Billings appeared somewhat astounded foran instant. Then he thrust his jaw out aggressively, and asked angrily:
“Say, what’s the matter with you, kid? Do you think you can teach meanything about skating?”
“Well, of course, I’m a month or two younger than you, you know”--herethe crowd snickered impolitely--“but I rather fancy that I can beatyou by a few yards in a half-mile race. Would you care to try?”
For a moment Billings looked doubtful. Possibly he thought that he hadunwittingly encountered the school’s crack skater, and feared for theresult. If he did the idea was dispelled by Trevor’s next remark.
“They don’t call me much of a skater here, you know; we have severalfellows who can beat me without trouble, but they’re all rather busyjust at present, and so, if you don’t mind putting up with somethingordinary, I’ll be glad to show you what I can about skating.” Thegentle patronage of Trevor’s tones was beautiful, and the audiencehugged itself gleefully. Billings laughed loudly and scornfully.
“You will, eh? Say, you’re awfully nice, aren’t you? Mama know you’reout?” Trevor reddened but kept his temper.
“I fancy I could beat you by about twenty yards in a half mile,” hesaid musingly.
That was the last straw, and Billings elbowed his way toward theboat-house landing.
“Get your skates on, sonny, and I’ll show you what you don’t know aboutskating.”
“Where can I get a pair?” asked Trevor, addressing the fellows abouthim.
“Get Grove’s; what size shoe do you wear?” asked Carl. “Five? Theyought to fit; wait here and I’ll get them.” And he hurried off.
“Do you think you can beat him, ’Ighness?” asked one of the crowd.
“I fancy so; anyhow, I’ll do my best.” Carl returned with Grovesskating-boots, to which were screwed a superb pair of hockey skates.Trevor tried them on, and found that they fitted perfectly. News of theproposed race had spread, and those who had started toward their roomshad returned, while the two hockey teams, having taken off their skatesand donned their heavy clothing, also joined the throng. Billings sweptup majestically, and Trevor, who had been trying his skates in shortcircles, joined him.
“Suppose you skate around Long Isle and back,” suggested Grove; “that’sabout a half mile. We’ll draw a mark here for the finish. I say,French, you might act as judge at the finish. Dick, you start them,will you?”
“Standing start?” asked Dick.
Trevor looked inquiringly at Billings. “Doesn’t matter to me,” growledthat youth.
“All right. On your marks,” said Dick. “You’re to skate to the right,around Long Isle, and return here, crossing this line in this way frombelow. Is that satisfactory?”
Trevor nodded and felt for a hold with his rear blade, and Billingsuttered another growl.
“On your marks!--Set!--_Go!_”
Away they sped, Billings slightly in the lead, having learned thescience of quick starting from his hockey experience. They crossedthe river diagonally, heading for the down-stream end of theisland, Billings bending low, hands clasped behind his back, in theapproved style of American racers; Trevor more erect, arms swingingby his sides, and apparently putting forth much less effort than hiscompetitor.
“Carl, can Nesbitt skate?” asked Dick somewhat anxiously. Carl shookhis head.
“Don’t ask me. I never met him until the other day. But he _can_ skate;we can see that; the question is how well?”
“I hope he’ll win, if only to shut that bragging mucker up. Hello, lookthere!”
Carl looked and uttered a groan of dismay. Long Isle, lying almostabreast of the boat landing and about two thirds way across the river,is in reality composed of not one, but two islands, the second,scarcely twenty yards long, being separated from the main expanseat its lower end by a scant two yards of ice-covered channel. Thisfact had been overlooked, and now the watchers saw, at first withsurprise and then with annoyance, that the skaters had parted company.Billings had headed for the channel, while Trevor, holding to a closeinterpretation of the agreement, was making for the end of the smallerisland. The next moment Billings was out of sight; another instant andTrevor too had disappeared.
“If Nesbitt can overcome that handicap he’s a good one,” muttered Dick.
“That’s so,” Carl assented. “It means a good fifty yards lost, Iguess.” Some of the boys had hurried across the ice to the island, andfrom a point of vantage near its northern end were to be seen wavingtheir arms wildly. But
the throng at the finish could gather no hintfrom their gestures as to the progress of the racers.
“Evidently a misunderstanding there,” said French, the St. Eustacecaptain, approaching Grove. “Which is Long Isle?”
“Both of ’em,” grunted Grove.
“Well, but----”
“Oh, it’s all right, I guess; Billings wasn’t supposed to know; it wasmy fault; I forgot about that plaguy little bunch of land beyond there.The fellow that crosses first wins,” he added decisively. “What do yousay, Hope?”
“That’s right; Billings couldn’t know that he was supposed to go aroundboth islands.”
“Very well,” answered French, “but I’m sorry there was anymisunderstanding. Your man may think that he might have won if ithadn’t been for the mistake.”
“He may win anyhow,” said Dick dryly. “The race isn’t over yet.” Frenchlooked to see if Dick was joking, but finding no signs of levity,smiled politely and deprecatingly, and moved off. The next moment theboys on the island left their places and came scrambling back acrossthe ice, and then a skater came into view around the up-river end ofthe island and headed for the finish.
“It’s Billings,” said Dick in disappointed tones. But ere the wordswere out of his mouth a second form sped into sight, and a cheer wentup from the watchers. Trevor was apparently but a half dozen yardsbehind, and, although as the racers were coming directly toward thegroup it was impossible to be certain on that point, seemed to begaining at every stride.
Carl slapped Dick boisterously on the shoulder and then hugged himecstatically. “Can ’Is ’Ighness skate, Dick? _Can he skate?_”
“Can he!” howled Dick. “Look, he’s even with him; he’s--by Jupiter,Carl, he’s ahead of him!”
He was; and not only ahead now, but leading by a good three yards.Every voice was raised in shouts of encouragement, and cries of “Hurryup, Billings!” “Come on, Nesbitt!” “You can beat him! Brace up!” “Bullyfor Hillton!” broke into the frosty air as the two racers, bearing downswiftly, almost silently, on the finish line, sped nearer and nearer.
Twenty yards away Trevor threw a fleeting glance over his shoulderat his straining rival, and then, suddenly bending lower over theleaden-hued surface, fairly left the other standing and shot throughthe lane in the crowd and over the line a winner by ten long yards!
A winner by ten yards.]
And how Hillton howled!
“Even old ‘Turkey’ couldn’t beat that!” exulted Carl.
Trevor swung about near shore and skated leisurely back to whereBillings, red-faced and panting, was explaining to French and the restof the St. Eustace team how it happened. But his friends looked utterlybored at his narrative, and turned away one by one toward the landingsteps. Trevor came to a stop a yard in front of the tall, freckle-facedyouth, who paused in his explanation and regarded him angrily. Thecrowd hushed its chatter in delighted anticipation. Trevor thrust hishands under his sweater and regarded Billings with a wealth of genialcondescension.
“Any time you’d like to learn more about skating,” he remarked sweetly,“come up. I’m always at leisure Saturday afternoons.”
Then he nodded amiably and skated away ere the outraged Billings couldsummon his scattered wits to the rescue of his equally scattereddignity.