HOT WORK.
Bink and Danny locked arms at the conclusion of the first half of the
game and walked up and down like crowing bantam roosters, bellowing
college songs, in which the name of Merriwell figured largely.
“What are you bawling about?” Defarge demanded. “Your favorites haven’t
won the game. You’ve heard of the fools who ‘hollered’ before they were
out of the woods?”
“Oh, go use some salt!” Danny flung back at him.
“What in the dickens did you mean by that?” Bink asked, when an
opportunity offered. “Use some salt!”
“I meant for him to get off the ice,” Danny chuckled. “Salt or ashes,
either one. I simply happened to think of salt first.”
Then the two marched on, singing:
“Oh, our Merry is the lad, boys!
Rally round him true!
Beating the battle-drum of Eli.
He’s the best that Yale has had, boys,
Rally round him, do!
You’ll never see another at Old Eli.
“Oh, Merry forever,
Hurrah, boys! hurrah!
Oh, Merry forever,
The king without a flaw!
We’ll sing his praises true, boys,
For the honor of the Blue!
For Merriwell, the glory of Old Eli!”
The teams again went on the cleared space, the puck was faced, and the
referee sharply called “Play!”
Again, as in the beginning, Morgan secured the first scoop of the puck.
He sent it toward Merriwell’s goal-posts and the Beckwith team again
tried to rush it on.
Browning was in place, blocked it with his feet, and skipped it off to
one side. But it was in position for another drive at Merriwell’s goal
in a surprisingly short time. Starbright tried to get it, but Packard
drove it past him, making a perilous lunge that came near pitching him
on the ice. But Hodge’s stick caught the puck, cracked heavily against
it, and the two teams rushing after it, the fight for its possession
raged at the other end of the surface.
Then Merriwell secured the puck, shooting it back to Ready, who
boastingly claimed that he was always “Ready” for anything. Jack proved
his worthiness of the name and drove the bit of rubber between
Beckwith’s flags.
Morgan was determined to win the game from Merriwell, and when he and
Frank again faced each other with the puck between their sticks,
awaiting the word of the referee, this determination was increased by
the fact that Merriwell’s team was now one goal ahead.
But in spite of his determination, Merriwell’s stick was the first to
move the puck. But he could not drive it for goal. It went down to
Bingham, the opposing cover-point, who whirled it back. Then Hodge’s
stick cracked against it, and it skipped once more toward Beckwith’s
goal-line. Harlan stopped it here, and an exciting scrimmage occurred.
Out of the welter it flew back toward Merriwell’s goal, against the
stick of Harlan, who began to dribble it down the ice. Fearing to lose
it, he sent it back to Bingham, who shot it to one side to Ned Silver,
who drove it, amid cries of “off-side,” for Merriwell’s goal.
Carson and Browning both tried to stop it, but they failed. Another goal
was added to Beckwith’s side, and the score stood four to four.
“Oh, this isn’t easy work!” squealed Bink. “This is the kind of playing
that turns a fellow’s heart into a force-pump!”
“Hang it! I’d hate to have Merry beaten after all our howling,” Danny
grumbled.
“You base skeptic!” said Inza, turning on him. “Doubters have no place
in Merriwell’s camp!”
“I ain’t ‘doubtin’ him,’ as the old country woman said when told that
her husband was having an awful fight with a bear. ‘I ain’t doubtin’ him
a mite; but I’m kinder oneasy!’”
Morgan was fighting now with great coolness, but with a sort of
fierceness under it all that was wonderful to see. He was marvelously
skilful. He was as quick as lightning, and as he was able to skate fast
or slow, he was not easily thrown off his feet by the body-checking,
blocking, and interference of an opponent.
He could dodge and twist as cleverly as Merriwell himself, and he could
stop with a suddenness that was startling. Nearly every other player had
at some time during the game been thrown from his feet, some receiving
jarring falls, but nothing apparently could overthrow Dade Morgan.
In the next two minutes of play Beckwith’s men secured another goal
through the fine work of Morgan, making the score five in their favor to
four for the Merriwells.
Then how the friends of Morgan yelled! Bink and Danny tried to lift a
song of encouragement for Merriwell’s men, but it was drowned in the
roar that went up for Morgan.
Dade’s face was darkly flushed, his eyes were shining brightly and the
smile had deepened. He began to see the possibility of defeating
Merriwell’s men. If he could do that, he felt that it would reinstate
him in the good graces of all his former friends, and perhaps give him
the unquestioned leadership of the freshmen. That would, he fancied,
humiliate both Starbright and Merriwell.
The game had begun nearly an hour late, and the short day was rapidly
drawing to a close. But none of the players, none of the spectators,
noticed this, so great was their interest and excitement. The spectators
had come out expecting a good game, but not prepared for such bulldog
and wildcat style of hockey-fighting. It was worth going miles to
witness.
Again the play was on, with the groups round the cleared space crowding
as close up as they were permitted, and all howling for their favorites
and vociferously applauding.
Now and then through the uproar could be heard the shrill squeals of
Bink and Danny as they piped for Merriwell.
After a fierce struggle Merriwell secured the puck in the open and made
a rush of the entire length of the rink, dodging three opponents and
scoring a beautiful goal, tieing the score, which was now five to five.
In the next play Beckwith’s men forced the puck to the flags of their
opponents and made a desperate effort to get another goal. But they
failed to get by Browning. Time after time his wonderful lifting and
stopping sent the puck from his goal.
Then Beckwith’s men made another effort, and sent the puck between the
flags with a high shot which was instantly protested. It had been made
by Ned Silver, and no one thought that Silver had tried to cheat; but
the rules provided that no player should raise his stick above his
shoulder, and Silver had done that.
The goal was not counted; and with the match still a tie, the fight for
goals was renewed.
Silver might have been ruled off the ice, but, the referee believing no
infraction of the rules had been intended, this was not done.
Merriwell now began to push the work toward the other end of the rink,
twice sending the puck for goal, but each time the disk was stopped by
Beckwith, whose agility was remarkable for a man of his size. Beckwith
was a great football-player, and he showed that he was equally good as a
goal-keeper in a hockey-match.
The position of goal-keeper is a hard one, and often thankless. Though
Beckwith frequently gained possession of the puck he was never given
time or room to pass it down the rink, but was forced to shoot it off to
one side, thus preventing another try-for-goal until the rubber could be
worked back into favorable position.
Finally Merriwell found the opening he was seeking and drove the puck
between the goal-posts, and the score became six for his team to five
for Beckwith’s.
“Fellows, we can beat them!” Morgan urged, before the beginning of the
next play. “We’ll do it.”
The response was all that he wished, so far as effort went. But
Merriwell seemed now to have struck the winning streak. The puck went
toward Beckwith’s side, and then farther along by clever lifting and
dribbling.
The musical ring of the skates and the sinewy movements of the skaters
were inspiring. Bink and Danny lost their heads completely and yelled
and squeaked until they were hoarse.
Every inch of the way was hotly contested, and the puck skipping back
and forth, the excited spectators could hardly tell for a time in which
direction it was really progressing.
Several times there were cries of “off-side,” but Frank saw that his men
were doing no off-side play, and the infractions of the rule by other
players seemed inconsequential. Once, however, he saw a skater—it was
Roland Packard—advance the puck with his skate. Merriwell would have
protested against this if the puck had not been checked and sent on
toward Beckwith’s goal. The officials did not see the trick of Packard.
Starbright secured the puck and was about to drive it for goal, when it
was “biffed” away by Morgan’s stick. Morgan shot it to Silver, who
attempted to send it farther along.
Then Ready secured it and started with it down the rink, dribbling it
just ahead of him. He tried to “lift” it over the heads of the
cover-point and others, but it was stopped, and came whizzing back
again.
Dashleigh obtained it and sent it bang against Beckwith’s shins, and
Beckwith shot it to one side.
After some more quick work it came into Merriwell’s possession. Morgan
skated in with the speed of lightning to prevent Frank’s play; but,
swift as he was, he was too slow. Frank’s stick pushed the puck with a
quick flirt past Morgan and between the posts, and another goal had been
added.
The score was seven to five when the timekeeper’s whistle blew.
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