FIRST PRACTICE
It’s remarkable how different things look in the morning! A chap may
go to bed the night before in the seventh subway of despair and wake
up in the morning feeling quite cheerful and contented. And this is
especially true if the sun happens to be shining and a little frosty,
nippy breeze is blowing in at the window and the faint odor of coffee
and other delectable things floats in with the breeze. As Toby’s room
was over the kitchen, which occupied the basement of Whitson, he was
quite frequently treated to a presentment of what was to happen in
commons. This morning, sitting on the edge of his bed, and shivering a
little as the playful zephyrs caressed his legs, he sniffed knowingly
and decided that there was an unmistakably choppy bouquet to the
fragrance arising from the kitchen windows. And he was pleased, because
he was especially fond of lamb chops. Also, he was particularly hungry
to-day, having eaten scantily of supper because――
That because brought back to memory his overnight’s grievance. But
this morning it seemed absurdly trifling. He had, he decided, made a
silly ass of himself, and he wondered what on earth had got into him!
He would find Arnold the very first thing and show him that he was
sorry. Of course Arnold liked Frank Lamson. Why shouldn’t he, since
they had known each other several years? Besides, Frank, after all,
wasn’t such a bad chap probably――if you knew him well! Meanwhile there
was a bath to be taken, and one had to do a lot of hustling to get a
bath in before breakfast for the reason that the bathing facilities
in Whitson were archaic and there were some twelve boys for each tub.
This knowledge spurred Toby to action and he jumped up and closed the
window with a bang, seized the gorgeous new crimson dressing-gown that
his mother had given him for Christmas and, struggling hurriedly into
it, dashed down the hall. For once promptness earned its reward. Only
Stillwell and Framer were ahead of him and Toby was back in his room in
five minutes, glowing and happy and hungry.
When, on his way downstairs, he knocked at the door of Number 12
and was invited to enter, he found only Homer Wilkins within. Homer
was still very incompletely attired and very sleepy looking, and he
informed Toby with a prodigious yawn, that Arn had gone on down. “He’s
a regular Little Brighteyes,” he complained. “No worm would have half a
chance with Arn. What’s the weather like, Toby?”
“Great! You’d better hustle if you want any breakfast.”
“I don’t expect any,” replied Homer sadly. “I haven’t had a square meal
in the morning since I’ve been here. Everything’s sold out when I get
down. They ought to have a lunch-wagon for fellows――”
But Toby didn’t hear the rest. Arnold was busily adorning his plate of
oatmeal with much cream and sugar when Toby reached the table. Only
four others were on hand so far.
“Morning,” greeted Toby as he sat down and pulled his napkin out of its
numbered ring.
“Hello, Tucker!” “Morning, Toby!” “Greetings!” “Shove that sugar-bowl
along this way, will you?”
Arnold, however, only looked up briefly and nodded. Toby’s face fell.
When one is ready to apologize and make up it is most disheartening to
find that the other party isn’t ready! Evidently Arnold was nursing
resentment, and Toby knew that as a nurse for that sort of thing Arn
was hard to beat. But he pretended that he observed nothing different
in his friend’s attitude and was quite chatty――for Toby. Will Curran,
who had been severely lectured by his older brother for snobbishness,
showed a desire to make amends and was unusually attentive to Toby. By
the time the table had filled up, which was only when the leisurely
Homer Wilkins had fallen wearily into the chair at Arnold’s left,
Arnold had forgotten to look hurt and proud and was holding an animated
discussion with Gladwin on the subject of hockey skates. Glad, as he
was generally called, was firm for the half-hockey style and Arnold
pinned his faith on the full.
“A straight blade is all right for racing,” declared Gladwin, “but it’s
too slow for hockey.”
“Too slow!” exclaimed Arnold. “How do you mean, too slow? You get more
surface to the ice and――”
“That’s all right when you’re skating, but when you want to turn
quickly――”
“Oh, shucks! Look here, Glad, you take a skate that’s got a round toe
and how are you going to start quickly? You can’t dig your toes in, can
you?”
“No, but you don’t have to. A fellow can start just as quick on the
edge. A long, flat blade is――”
“Oh, poppycock! You never saw a racer start on the edge, I’ll bet! Look
at the Canadians. You don’t deny that they know more hockey than we do,
do you?”
“They did,” responded Glad cautiously, “but we’re catching up with ’em
nowadays. Anyway――”
“Well, they know hockey, son, and they use a full-hockey skate every
time! If that doesn’t prove it――”
“I don’t think the Canadians play any better game than we do these
days,” interrupted Glad. “And that doesn’t prove anything, anyway.
Canadians are more or less English, and you know mighty well that an
Englishman uses the same skate to-day that his great-grandfather used,
and couldn’t be made to change. It――it’s all a matter of custom with
them!”
“Don’t be a silly ass, please,” begged Arnold. “Any fellow who has seen
a Canadian hockey team knows that they use a full-hockey skate, and
a full-hockey skate wasn’t made until a few years ago, and so their
grandfathers couldn’t have used them! Why, you might just as well say
that the best hockey skate is an old-fashioned ‘rocker’!”
“There’s a lot of difference,” began Gladwin, but the audience told him
to shut up and eat his breakfast, and Arnold was restored to his normal
equanimity by the knowledge that he had won the debate. Consequently,
when, a few minutes later, Toby met him in the corridor, Arnold had
quite forgotten his grievance.
“Did you hear that line of piffle Glad pulled?” he demanded. “I’d like
to see him make his quick starts on a pair of half-hockeys! I’ll bet I
could beat him every time!”
“Of course you could,” agreed Toby. “Say, Arn, I――I’m sorry I was such
a beast last night, you know.”
“What? Oh! Say, what was the matter with you, you silly chump, anyway?”
“Nothing, really. I was sort of――sort of cranky, I guess.”
“Must have been,” agreed Arnold cheerfully. “Had the hump, I suppose.
How is it by you to-day?”
“Oh, I’m feeling great to-day. Let’s get out and tramp a little before
first hour. Shall we?”
“All right. Wait till I get a cap. Guess we’ll need sweaters, too.”
“I’ll have to run up and get mine and I’ll fetch yours on the way
down.” Toby paused with the door half open. “Say, Arn, it’s――it’s all
right, isn’t it? About last night, I mean.”
“Of course it is, you chump! Get a move on. We’ve only got about twenty
minutes.”
At three o’clock in the afternoon of that fifth day of January the
stretch of low ground near the river and south of the running track
became the scene of remarkable activity. Fully half the school turned
out, although not all, I regret to say, with the intention of being
helpful. Perhaps fifty per cent. of the gathering was there to watch
the other fifty per cent. work and to get as much amusement as possible
out of the spectacle. Mr. Bendix, the Physical Director, better known
as “Muscles,” was in charge of proceedings, assisted by Andy Ryan, the
trainer. Corner pegs had already been set when the boys arrived and the
task of digging holes for the uprights to hold the boards in place was
under way. Captain Crowell, acting as lieutenant, doled out shovels and
picks and soon the necessary excavations were completed. Fortunately,
only the crust of the earth was frozen and once under that digging was
easy. The joists were next lugged from their place of storage under
the grand-stand and dropped into the holes and with one boy holding
and two or three others shoveling, and Andy Ryan running around with
a carpenter’s level to see that the joists were set straight, that
part of the work went swiftly and would have gone more swiftly if the
onlookers, being in a particularly happy frame of mind, had not stood
around and cheered every move enthusiastically.
Then a stream of fellows made for the back of the grand-stand again and
returned bearing the planks, which, being in sections ready to attach
to the uprights, required less labor than the pessimistic Creel had led
Toby to anticipate. Each section was numbered and fell readily into
place, after which a few long spikes completed the operation. Toby,
armed with a hammer and a bag of spikes, was one of the carpenters.
Every time he missed the head of the spike a shout of derision arose
from the attentive audience, and, in consequence, Toby was very likely
to promptly miss again! But there were plenty of others to aid and
before long the three-foot-high barrier was in place, enclosing a
parallelogram of faded and trampled turf one hundred and thirty-two
feet long by sixty feet wide. Before the last spike had been driven
home the boys were busy with picks and shovels and a foot-high bank of
earth was being thrown up against the bottom of boards on the outside.
By the time the last shovelful had been tossed in place twilight was
on them and the spectators had departed. The thermometer showed the
mercury at twenty-eight degrees, but falling, and it was decided to
put in enough water to only saturate the ground. Two lines of hose
were coupled to the nearer hydrants and the enclosure was thoroughly
wet down. That ended the labor for the time and some forty-odd boys,
abandoning shovels and picks, viewed the result of their labor
with proud satisfaction and tramped somewhat wearily back to the
dormitories. To Toby, at least, who had worked hard and unceasingly
from first to last, the lighted windows up the hill looked very good.
The thermometer was down to twenty in the morning and again the water
was turned into the hydrants, the hose coupled and the frozen ground
sprayed. This operation was repeated twice more during the day and
when, in the late afternoon, Toby and Arnold walked down to the rink
they found an inch of ice already formed. But it was not until the
following afternoon that the rink was ready for use. The mercury was
down to fourteen above zero at three o’clock and the final spraying at
noon had supplied a surface as smooth and hard as glass. By a quarter
past three four squads were at work, rushing and passing and, it must
be acknowledged, sprawling over the ice. Later two teams were picked by
Captain Crowell and the other fellows pulled their sweaters on again
and lined the barrier and looked on. Most of the school was on hand,
as well, and although there was no line-up that afternoon, they found
plenty to divert them.
Toby, of course, spent most of the practice time outside the barrier,
but he profited not a little by watching the more fortunate fellows.
Going back, he confided to Arnold that he was sure he would never be
able to get around on skates the way those chaps did. Arnold, whose
right to a place on the first team was generally recognized, had been
hard at it and was feeling very perked up and cheerful and derided
Toby’s doubts.
“You wait till you’ve had a few days of it,” he said. “You’ll get the
hang of it all right. There’s only one secret, Toby, and that is skate
low. It helps you to keep your balance and makes it harder for the
other fellow to body-check you. If you’re standing straight on your
skates the least shove will throw you over, but if you’re skating low
you can take a good hard check and keep your feet on the ice.”
“I see that,” said Toby. “But you fellows dodge and jump around and
turn so quickly! Why, I’d break my silly neck if I tried it!”
“You’ll learn. Anyway, if you go in for goal, you won’t need to know so
much about skating.”
“How much does a pair of skates like yours cost?” asked Toby after a
moment’s silence.
“I paid five, but you can get a good pair for three and a half. Don’t
buy any till you find out whether you’re going to play goal or not,
though. If you play goal you’ll be better off with a pair of heavy
skates with short blades. You can move a heap quicker in them.”
“And how much would they be?”
“Oh, three and a half, I guess. What’s the matter with wearing the ones
you have?”
“Could I? They’re sort of old-fashioned. I only paid a dollar and a
half for them, and I’ve had them about three years.”
“Let’s see them,” said Arnold. They paused in the light from a lower
window in Merle and Arnold looked them over. Finally he grunted and
passed them back. “I guess they wouldn’t do, Toby. They’d break in two
if some one gave them a good swipe with a stick or skated into them.
What you want to do is to get a pair of skating shoes and screw your
skates right onto them. Those full clamp skates are always tearing your
heel off.”
“How much would shoes cost?” asked Toby.
“Five dollars. More if you want to pay it. But they’ll stand by you for
two or three years.”
“Yes, but Crowell said we’d all have to have hockey gloves, and
they’re frightfully expensive. And I might have to buy a pair of pads
if I got to playing goal. I guess hockey’s a pretty expensive game,
Arn.”
“Pshaw, pads don’t cost much; only about four dollars, I think. Fifteen
dollars will buy everything you’ll need.”
“Gee, that’s cheap, isn’t it?” muttered Toby disconsolately. “I guess
I’ll wait and see if there’s any show of making a team before I buy
much.”
Arnold laughed as they crossed the colonnade and turned toward the
entrance to Whitson. “You were always a cautious chap, Toby!”
“I have to be,” replied the other simply.
“I suppose you do. Look here!” Arnold stopped in the act of pushing
open the door. “I’ve got a pretty good pair of skates upstairs. They’ve
got button heels, but I guess they’d be all right for you. If you want
them you’re welcome. Come on up and I’ll dig them out.”
They proved all right as to size, but, unfortunately, the heel-plates
had been lost. Homer Wilkins, who came in while they were bewailing
this fact, suggested that they could get new plates by sending to the
maker, and they cheered up again. Toby bore the skates away with him
to his room and, arrived there, studied that note-book again. Quite a
few fellows had paid their accounts by now and so many of the entries
had been scored out, but there was still nearly six dollars owing him.
Most of the accounts were small, ranging from fifteen cents to thirty,
but a few were larger and Frank Lamson’s was the biggest. Frank had
promised to pay after vacation, but he hadn’t and Toby considered the
advisability of reminding him of his promise. But Toby decided finally
that he would rather lose the money than dun Frank for it any more.
What he would do, though, was to spend an hour after supper trying
to collect some of the other amounts due him. Having reached that
decision, he started his gas stove, heated his iron and pressed two
pairs of trousers and a coat and waistcoat before supper.
Afterwards, he made the rounds of the dormitories before study hour
and returned richer by two dollars and eighty cents. That amount,
together with four dollars and twenty-two cents which he had by him,
he deposited in a little cardboard box and hid under an extra pair of
pajamas in a bureau drawer, after printing on the lid in ink: “Hockey
Fund.”
Seven dollars would, he believed, buy a pair of pads and a pair of
gloves, and now that Arnold had donated a perfectly corking pair
of skates, he wouldn’t have to purchase shoes. He could put the
heel-plates, when he got them, on the shoes he was wearing and use them
for all purposes. He had a feeling that in expending seven dollars for
hockey paraphernalia he was being downright extravagant, but he had
earned the money and, he told himself defiantly, he had a right to
be reckless with it for once. He didn’t entirely silence an accusing
conscience, but he reduced it to whispers!
Toby had already become an enthusiastic hockey fan without as yet
having taken part in a game! His efforts to make good as a football
player had not been very successful, and he made up his mind that this
time he would conquer. He had an ecstatic vision of one Toby Tucker,
a blue-and-white stockinette cap on his head, wearing a white sweater
with the crossed hockey sticks and the mystic letters Y. H. T. on it,
his legs encased in white leather pads such as Henry, the first team
goal-tend, had worn that afternoon, armed with a wide-bladed stick,
crouching in front of the net while the cheers of Yardley and Broadwood
thundered across the rink. The vision stopped there because, for the
life of him, he couldn’t imagine what the heroic Toby Tucker would do
if some brutal member of the enemy team tried to put the puck past him!
But it was a fine and heart-warming picture, and Toby wanted terribly
to see it realized, and it didn’t seem to him at such moments that it
would be right to let a small matter of seven dollars interfere with
that realization. Besides, there was still the barest, tiniest chance
of that scholarship! When Toby was feeling cheerful he recognized that
chance. At other times he told himself that it didn’t exist. To-night,
being optimistic, he allowed that perhaps, after all, he might win one
of the smaller ones. If he did he would never regret the sinful waste
of that seven dollars. Fifty dollars would make a lot of difference in
his financial condition. However, he would not, he reflected, get his
hopes too high. It was much better not to expect anything. Then if he
did win a Haynes Scholarship――
Gee, he was getting all excited about it! That wouldn’t do, because it
was very, very likely that he wouldn’t succeed. He pulled his books
to him and settled himself, with a sigh, for an hour of study. Anyway,
he thought, as he opened his algebra, he would know to-morrow, for
to-morrow was the eighth and it was on the eighth, according to the
school catalogue, that the awards were announced. Of course, since
there were only six scholarships for the fourth class and about one
hundred students――Toby sighed again, shook his head and plunged into
algebra.