OLD FRIENDS.
A large crowd hastened out to Lake Whitney that afternoon to witness the
match between the two Yale sevens.
The snowfall had spoiled the ice for skating, but a space sufficiently
large for an ice-hockey match had been cleared of the snow, revealing a
surface to please the eye of the most critical hockey-player.
Not only was Yale well represented, but a number of New Haven people
added their presence to the crowd, being anxious to see the playing,
chiefly because Merriwell was on one of the teams.
Frank Merriwell and Inza Burrage drove out. They had been much together
recently, but Inza was to leave New Haven that night for an indefinite
absence.
As Frank descended from the carriage and assisted Inza to alight, a
sleigh, the only one there, came up with the horse at a dead run. Out of
the sleigh proceeded a roar, and tumbling out after the roar fell Bink
Stubbs and Danny Griswold.
“Whoop!” squealed Danny, making a dive for Merriwell.
“Wow!” squeaked Bink, diving after his chum.
Ready puffed out his cheeks and leaped toward them with the “glad hand.”
Dozens of others appeared to forget all about ice-hockey and gravitated
toward the two little fellows, who were now hopping up and down,
chattering out their delight and shaking hands with every one who came
forward.
“We were afraid we wouldn’t be in time,” Danny explained. “Bink came up
with me on the train this afternoon——”
“Don’t believe him, gentlemen!” Bink begged. “He came up with me. Why,
you don’t suppose I’d be caught dead chasing that thing around, do you?
If he hadn’t come up with me——”
“You mean if you hadn’t come up with me!”
“If you hadn’t come up with each other?” Merriwell put in.
“Why, we wouldn’t be here, of course. Say, Ready, heard the last joke on
Danny?”
Bink turned to his old friend.
“I never expect to hear the last,” Ready averred.
“It’s fortunate that Ready knows what a liar you are!” Danny said.
“We were coming by the gym when Danny saw a man buying some lunch out of
that old lunch-cart stationed there, ‘Say,’ he whispered, and he took
hold of my arm as solemnly as an astronomer announcing the discovery of
a new comet, ‘I’ve discovered something! I know what they mean now when
they talk about dinner à la carte.’ And, gentlemen, if you’ll believe
me, the ignoramus meant it.”
“When it comes to lying, you’re like the moon,” Danny declared. “Nothing
on earth can touch you.”
“Oh, yes, I’m a warm baby, but not so warm as you were the other evening
when you were singing ‘A Hot Time.’”
“Rats! I never sing it.”
“Don’t you remember when those boys heated that old watch and laid it
nicely down on the pavement, and you picked it up, thinking you’d struck
a find?”
“Well, I didn’t sing ‘A Hot Time.’ I simply remarked that all the hot
springs were not in Arkansas. Now, you slanderer, I’ll make it cool for
you!”
He grabbed an armful of snow and dashed it into Bink’s face.
“‘And I’ll follow suit,’ as the Jew said when he began to chase the
stolen clothing down the street.”
They were at it, and for a little while there was a whirling mass of
snow, arms, and legs, with a head bobbing out now and then. Ready stood
by and serenely whooped his encouragement.
“It seems good to have the little idiots back again,” Jack remarked to
Merriwell.
“Idiots?”
“That’s my pet name for them. Yale has seemed lonesome, somehow, without
them.”
The pair of snow images into which Bink and Danny were transformed had
ceased fighting and were again joking. Danny came over to Inza and again
shook her hand.
“Bink is staying in New York now, you know. You haven’t any idea of how
foolish and sentimental he has become. Why, he’s actually fallen in love
with an heiress down there. The other day he went to the father of his
honeysuckle and asked the old gent for the hand of his daughter.”
“Of course he instantly consented,” was Inza’s smiling comment.
“Well, he wasn’t in a hurry, and I don’t think he’ll give his consent
now. He told Bink that before he answered his question he’d like to know
a little more about him, and asked him what was his station. And will
you believe it, the idiot said that he usually got off at Hyde Park!”
“You’ll get off the earth in a little while!” Bink squeaked, catching
the last words.
“We’ll have to get into the hockey-match,” said Frank, looking at his
watch. “We’re nearly an hour late.”
The teams were taking their places on the ice amid the hand-clappings of
their supporters. They were merely individual teams, one led by
Merriwell, the other by Beckwith, the big guard of the football eleven.
The names and the positions occupied were as follows:
MERRIWELL’S. POSITION. BECKWITH’S.
Browning. Goal. Beckwith.
Carson. Point. Harlan.
Dashleigh. Cover-point. Bingham.
Starbright. Forward. Ned Silver.
Ready. Forward. Roll Packard.
Hodge. Forward. Defarge.
Merriwell. Forward. Morgan.
“I’d like to play that game,” cried Danny, waving his short arms
encouragingly.
“You’d hoodoo the whole thing,” was Bink’s uncharitable answer.
“Hood-doo it?” Ready mildly asked, as he struck at an imaginary puck.
“They’re doing it!” Bink shrieked. “See that drive! Oh, Sally!”
The puck had been “faced” in the center of the field between the sticks
of Merriwell and Morgan, the referee had uttered the word “Play!” and
Morgan scooped the puck back to one of his men with a dexterous movement
that caused Bink to yell.
The smile appeared on Dade’s face. Since his last severe defeat by
Merriwell he had almost forgotten the winning smile that he sought
always to wear; but it came back now.
“Oh, say, that fellow’s a wonder! Did you see that?” Bink demanded.
“I see that you’re a fool!” Danny snarled. “Just wait till Merriwell
gets into gear. I think he could have prevented that.”
“Oh, that’s the way with you fellows, always!” sneered Gene Skelding,
who chanced to be standing by. “Whenever Merriwell wins, it’s an
indication that he’s the greatest player in the world; and when he loses
it is because he is so generous that he does not wish to hurt the
feelings of an opponent by defeating him.”
The little fellows turned on Skelding with flashing eyes.
“Oh, don’t fight!” Inza smilingly begged. “You’ll miss some interesting
playing while you’re at it.”
“It’s a good thing you interfered,” said Bink, speaking to her a moment
after. “We’d have eaten the fellow up.”
“I knew it, and so I interfered. I was like the little boy who ate up
the piece of pie belonging to his little brother.”
She smiled sweetly. Bink stared.
“How was that?”
“I took the weaker one’s part.”
Bink fell over gurgling in the snow, and Danny gave him a kick to “drive
some sense into him,” as he said.
“You’re missing it all,” Inza urged.
“And we came down from New York on purpose to see this great and
glorious game!”
Bink would have tackled Danny, but the cheering of the spectators warned
him that he was indeed losing some good playing.
Beckwith’s forwards had the puck and were forcing it toward Merriwell’s
goal. Silver pushed it to Packard and Packard to Defarge, and the latter
drove it toward Merriwell’s flags.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Danny yelled.
“Oh, he’s doing it!” shrieked Bink. “That’s right, Browning, old boy!
Drive it back!”
Browning was a capital goal-keeper. He not only blocked Defarge’s play,
but he sent the puck skipping back along the ice toward the goal of the
opposing team.
There were yells of “off-side,” from the spectators as the members of
the opposing teams came together, but the play went on.
Silver tried to carom the puck against a board at the side of the
natural rink, and so shoot it toward Merriwell’s goal, Merriwell being
in front of him; but Merriwell’s stick caught it, deviated it, and sent
it between the goal-posts of his opponents.
The puck was again faced in the center of the field between the sticks
of Morgan and Merriwell. Dade had secured it before, and he was alertly
watchful for this advantage again.
Morgan was a handsome fellow, and as he and Frank stood in position for
the beginning of the play their pose was worthy of the genius of a
sculptor. There was a silence, broken by the “Play!” of the referee.
Morgan scooped at the puck as he had done before, but to his surprise he
found his quickest movement too slow. The puck was moved by Merriwell’s
stick and shot across the ice.
Packard stopped it and sent it flying back, where it was caught by the
stick of Jack Ready, who dribbled it forward, skating easily and
gracefully; then, seeing it was in danger of being taken from him, he
managed to pass it to Merriwell. Starbright was in a better position
than Merriwell to receive it, but to have sent it to Starbright would
have put Merriwell off-side, and Ready believed that Merriwell could
handle it better than any one else.
The result justified his judgment, for Merriwell promptly drove the puck
between Beckwith’s goal-posts, and another score was added to his side.
“Second blood for Merriwell!” shrieked Bink, throwing up his cap and
catching it on his head. “I’m betting my little wad on Merriwell!”
“’Rah for Merriwell!” Danny squealed.
The play was on again, and Merriwell’s team was working for another
drive. Frank had selected and disposed his men to the best advantage, as
was shown by their playing. But it was quickly seen that Beckwith had
been equally clever, and that he had in his team some of the very best
hockey timber in the college. Morgan was a veritable wonder on skates.
Though Starbright on a previous occasion had beaten Morgan in a race on
skates, thus proving himself the faster skater, he was not as nimble and
sinuous as Morgan, who seemed to have the twisting powers of an eel and
the quickness of a wildcat.
And Morgan was playing for all that was in him. He was playing fair,
too, for he knew that Merriwell was watching him. He had greatly feared
that Frank would object to his continuance on Beckwith’s team. Now he
was setting himself to do two things: To prove his superiority as a
hockey-player and thus endeavor to recover whatever ground he had lost
in the estimation of the freshmen, and to show Merriwell that he had
entered on a course of square dealing.
Morgan was the real leader of the Beckwith team, even though Beckwith
had made up the team and was nominally its captain. Every one soon saw
this, even Beckwith himself. But Beckwith was a big, generous fellow,
who did not care where the honor went so long as his team made a good
showing, and possibly managed to win the game.
Now, getting possession of the puck, Morgan, assisted by the other
forwards, pushed it down the ice, and, in spite of the exertions of
Merriwell’s men, shot it safely for goal.
The play was renewed, and within two minutes this was repeated.
“Hold ’em! Hold ’em!” Bink and Danny were bellowing to Bruce. “Oh, thou
lazy giant, hold ’em!”
The fight was on again, with the puck once more going toward Merriwell’s
goal. Some enthusiastic Morganites began to bellow:
“Morgan, Morgan, you are true!
You’re an honor to the Blue!
Make a dive
And let her drive,
We will pin our faith to you.
“On your team is Silver, white,
And old Beck, so golden bright
Bingham true,
And Harlan, too!
Hold ’em down, and make ’em fight.
“Defarge, Packard, paste away!
If the Merrys get too gay,
You’ve the team,
To make them dream!
You can show them how to play.”
The playing became so brilliant that the most sated Yale man was
awakened to active interest, and soon found himself yelling like mad for
the side he favored.
Morgan secured the puck.
Biff!
It flew toward Merriwell’s goal, but Browning, the goal-keeper, cleverly
stopped it. Merriwell’s stick caught it up and it went sailing toward
the opposite end of the ice. The forwards tried to get it as it whizzed
past them. The cover-point and cover tried to stop it. But it did not
get between the goal-posts, for Beckwith was there—Beckwith, who as a
goal-keeper was a match for any goal-keeper in Yale, not excepting big
Bruce Browning.
The puck skipped to the middle of the cleared space, and another fight
took place for its possession.
Suddenly Morgan was declared off-side in a play, and the puck was taken
back to the center of the rink, where it was faced again for a renewal
of the game.
The off-side play had been unintentional on Morgan’s part, due to
excitement; but his dark face flamed, nevertheless, for he had lost an
advantage, and he fancied that Merriwell would believe he had been
trying trickery. Then the game again raged.
Again Merriwell drove the puck toward Beckwith’s goal; but it was
stopped by Ned Silver, who, in trying to send it back, made a quick play
which merely skipped the puck off the cleared ice. There was a little
delay while it was brought on; then the fight for a goal recommenced.
The puck came once more beneath Merriwell’s stick.
“Now, drive it!” yelled Bink, who, with Danny, had been hopping about
through it all in the greatest excitement.
“Drive it!” squealed Danny.
Merriwell drove it straight as an arrow between the goal-posts of his
opponents; and the score became three for the Merriwells, with two for
Beckwith’s men.
“That’s right!” Bink piped. “If you’ll just obey the orders of your
uncle, you’ll always do the right thing!”
When the play was resumed Beckwith’s team began again their tactics of
rushing the puck headlong, and with volcanic energy, toward Merriwell’s
goal. They came near making a goal in less than a minute, too; for
Dashleigh, who had been doing excellent work, slipped in, making a quick
turn to drive, and, falling headlong on the ice, left the puck uncovered
for a moment. Defarge skated in with lightning speed, and, taking the
puck, drove and dribbled it toward Merriwell’s goal.
He tried to send it through between the goal-posts, but Starbright
blocked it, and sent it flying back.
“Hooray!” yelled Bink, for he thought Starbright had made a goal.
But Beckwith had stopped the play; and Morgan now drove the puck between
the Merriwell flags, and the score was tied.
The whistle of the timekeeper sounded. The first half of the game had
come to an end.
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