GERALD GOES ON AN ERRAND
By eleven o’clock the next forenoon the thaw had begun in earnest,
but it was too late to cancel the game. Rock Hill appeared on the
scene promptly and at a quarter to three the game began. The ice was
soft along the boards and there was a film of water everywhere, but
it was possible to play for all of that. Felder was out of the game
with tonsilitis and Sanderson took his place at cover point. The whole
school turned out to see the contest and lined the rink two and three
deep. Alf expected a hard game but defeat was not reckoned on. Yet at
the end of the first twenty-minute period, with the score 2 to 0 in
Rock Hill’s favor, it didn’t look so improbable. Rock Hill presented
a team of older and more experienced players and far excelled Yardley
in skating ability and stick work. Had it not been for Dan’s really
brilliant performance at the cage the score would have been much
larger. In the second half Yardley had what benefit there was from the
wind, but, in spite of that, the play remained about her goal most of
the time and that Rock Hill was able to add but one tally to her score
was due to good work on the part of the defense, and the fact that Rock
Hill’s shooting was not as brilliant as her other game. With the score,
3 to 0, and some four minutes to play, Alf saved the home team from a
shut-out by taking the puck himself the length of the rink and, with
one short pass to Hanley and back in front of goal, scoring Yardley’s
only tally. But there was no disgrace in being beaten by Rock Hill,
and, on the whole, Yardley’s work showed a distinct advance over that
of the game with the Yale freshmen. If the Blue could play as well a
week from that day, when she was due to meet the Green, Alf believed
that the Pennimore Cup and the season’s championship would remain at
Yardley.
But the weather was to be reckoned with, it seemed, for all Saturday
and Sunday and Monday the warm spell continued, until the hockey rink
was a shallow puddle of water with not a vestige of ice to be seen.
The river broke up and the last of the snow melted in the drifts. The
weather was almost springlike and Alf fumed and fretted and studied the
predictions. And, meanwhile, the only practice to be obtained was in
the gymnasium where, with two Indian clubs set up to indicate a goal,
the fellows shot until their arms ached.
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.”
“Oh, I forgot. Are you going to make the team? Arthur says you’re a
good player.”
“I won’t make it this year, I guess,” Gerald answered. “Isn’t it cold?
I must go on or I’ll freeze fast to the bridge here.”
In his room he took the cup out of the bag and set it on the table,
tossing the bag aside, and while he warmed himself at the radiator he
admired it and wondered whether Yardley would be able to keep it out of
the clutches of her rival. It would, he reflected, be an awful shame
if Broadwood should succeed in winning it for good. But whoever won
it, he was going to see that there was another cup to take its place.
After awhile it occurred to him that if he was not going to be late
for hockey practice he would have to hurry. So he left the room, ran
downstairs and sped across the yard to the gymnasium. Alf and some of
the others were just starting down to the rink as he reached the door.
“I got the cup, Alf,” he said. “It’s in my room. Shall I bring it over
this evening?”
“Why, no, you might as well keep it until Saturday, I guess. Get your
togs on, Gerald, and hurry down. If Andy comes in tell him I’ve gone
ahead.”
There was a stiff practice that afternoon, a good three quarters of an
hour of it, followed by two twenty-minute periods with the Second Team,
for to-morrow’s session was to be brief and light, only sufficient
to keep muscles limber. Gerald took part in the preliminary work and
then wrapped himself against the cold and became official timekeeper
while the First and Second Teams went at each other hammer and tongs.
The weather was conducive to fast work, and in the first period Alf’s
players managed to score four goals to the Second’s one. In the second
half all the substitutes had their chances and Gerald tried his best
to make good. But he was over-anxious and, being light, always got the
worst of it in a mix-up. Eager to distinguish himself, he over-skated
time and again and lost the puck, and Alf called constant warnings to
him.
“Careful, Gerald! There, you’ve done it again! Use both hands on that
stick, man! You can’t do anything that way!”
He turned to Dan and added: “If Gerald could use his stick as well as
he can use his skates he would make a good player.”
Dan smiled.
“He’s probably thinking that this is his last chance this year, Alf,
and he wants to make a hit. He―― Gee, he will get killed if he tries
that sort of thing!”
“Come now, Gerald!” sang out Alf. “This isn’t a slugging match! Keep
your stick down and look what you’re doing. You, too, Roeder! Follow
up, man, follow up!”
The Second managed to score twice in that half and the First broke
through the opposing defense for four more goals. Then Andy called a
halt and, in spite of Alf’s pleading for “another five minutes, Andy,”
drove them off the ice. After they had had their showers and had
dressed, Alf and Dan and Gerald left the gymnasium together.
“What was the matter with you this afternoon, Gerald?” asked Alf with a
smile. “You looked as though you were trying to kill the whole Second
Team.”
“Got sort of excited, didn’t you, chum?” laughed Dan.
“Well, you mustn’t get excited,” Alf said. “If you do you can’t play
good hockey. You’ve got to keep cool all the time and know just what
you’re doing. Let the other side lose their heads. If they do you’ve
got the game cinched. Just as soon as you go up in the air you forget
all about formation and begin to play the game all by your lonesome.
And as soon as you do that you’ll find that the other chaps are eating
you up, goal after goal. Remember that, kid. Next year you try again.
You’ll be a good deal heavier then, I guess, and I don’t see why you
shouldn’t make the team. And get your Y,” he added with a smile.
“I’m going to get it before then,” said Gerald gravely. “I’m going out
for the Track Team, you know.”
“Of course; I’d forgotten. Well, I hope you win a few points for us,
Gerald. For in spite of Tom’s blathering I have an idea that it isn’t
going to be so much of a walk-over after all. You got the cup, you
said?”
“Yes. And I wanted a hot chocolate but I didn’t dare go into Wallace’s
for it. I pretty nearly froze coming home.”
“Well, if you had gone into Wallace’s he might have made it warm for
you,” laughed Alf. “Coming over this evening, Dan? You’d better. Tom’s
going to Oxford, I think; they’ve got one of their amateur vaudeville
entertainments on for to-night. Tom just dotes on hearing rag-time
music and seeing fellows take paper flowers out of a derby hat.”
“Yes, I’ll drop in for awhile,” answered Dan. “My, but it certainly is
cold!”
“It’s great! I hope it stays just this way until after Saturday.”
“Well, Saturday is bound to be a cold day for somebody,” replied Dan.
After which _bon mot_ he and Gerald scuttled for Clarke.
It was dark when they reached the room, and while Dan found the matches
and lighted the gas Gerald took his coat off. He was hanging it on its
hook in his closet when Dan spoke.
“Where did you put the cup?” he asked.
“On the table there under your nose,” replied Gerald.
“On the table? Well, maybe you did, but it isn’t here now.”