“Taylor, I think. That isn’t very many, is it? I don’t see how you’ll get 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 the suggestion that Dick join him and witness the hockey match with St. Eustace, the latter concluded that he had earned a vacation, and so donned his warmest sweater and jacket and allowed himself to be torn away from the subject of candidates. As the two lads crossed the yard toward the steps that led down to the river by the boat-house they encountered 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. Despite this, however, a fair-sized audience had assembled on the ice near the landing, where a rink had been marked out, and were either circling about on skates or tramping to and fro to keep warm. “Haven’t begun yet,” said Carl Gray as they reached the head of the steps. “Looks as though they were having a debate instead of a hockey match.” 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 a St. Eustace player--apparently the captain of the opposing team--while a circle of interested boys surrounded them. As the three approached the gathering broke up, and Grove, spying Dick, came toward him looking angry and indignant. “Say, Hope, what do you think? St. Eustace wants to play that big dub over there; see him? The fellow with the white sweater. Why, he’s twenty-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 you think that’s right?” “He does look rather big and aged for a St. Eustace chap,” replied Dick with a grin. “And of course if you’re certain he’s an outsider you’re right 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; and that they haven’t brought any subs, and that if Billings--that’s the mucker’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. What does 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 the other day; he’s the fellow you dropped from the team last week.” Grove looked sheepish.