“Yes, sir, but I――I haven’t had time yet.” “Well, get at it, man! Those things aren’t fit to wear. Your fingers would freeze numb on a cold day. Better attend to it to-day if you can. It’s five minutes to twelve, fellows. You’d better stop now. Can you come again to-morrow, Beech?” “Yes, sir, to-morrow and Thursday, but not Friday; nor Saturday either.” “Never mind about Saturday. We’ll leave Saturday out. I’ll take your place Friday, unless I have to run back to New York that day. What I want to do, Beech, is to make a real corking goal out of Tucker. He’s got a sort of natural style of playing it that looks good to me. Notice it?” “I don’t know, Mr. Loring,” responded Beech doubtfully. “But I know that Tucker can certainly stop them in good style. He’s had me skating my head off, sir, before you came.” “Stopping them when there’s only one man against you isn’t so hard,” said Toby, tugging at the straps of his leg-guards. “It’s when three or four are skating down on you that the trouble begins!” “Only one of the four can shoot, Tucker. Remember that. Keep your eye glued to the puck, my boy, and it won’t make much difference if there are twenty at you. It’s the last man who counts.” They walked back to the gymnasium together and there Mr. Loring left them. As Toby and Beech hurried into their street clothes Beech said: “Some of the fellows think Loring doesn’t know his business, but I don’t see what their kick is. I guess he knows as much hockey as he needs. I like him, don’t you?” “Awfully,” agreed Toby emphatically. “They say that he was responsible for losing the Broadwood game last year. Did you play then?” “Not on the first, no. But there’s no sense in blaming Loring for the loss of that game. He did the best he could, I guess. The trouble was that Broadwood had a team that played all around us. They skated better and shot better and checked harder. They played like a team and we played like seven individuals. We didn’t do so badly the first half, but after that Broadwood got a goal on a fluke――Henry kicked the puck into his own goal――and that gave them a lead of two, and we went up in the air and played shinney all the rest of the game. At that they only licked us seven to three; or maybe it was eight to four; something like that. I hope to goodness we sock it to ’em good and hard this time, though. He evidently expects you to play goal in that game, Tucker.” “I hope I’ll be good enough to,” replied Toby. “I――I’d like it awfully.” “Of course you would,” laughed the other. “I’d like it myself. I’ve been playing two years already――three, counting this――and I’ve never got nearer the first team than I am now.” “I don’t see why,” said Toby. “You shoot wonderfully, I think.”