The hockey game with Nordham that Saturday afternoon left a good deal to be desired in science and interest. In the first place, and I mention it as a mitigating circumstance, two days of mild weather had left the ice in very poor condition and good skating was out of the question. A half-inch of water lay over the surface and against the boards on the sunny side of the rink the ice was fairly rotten. Nordham presented a hard-working aggregation of talent, a team of lithe, well-trained youths who looked not only in the pink of condition but able for speed and skill as well. Toby viewed that contest from the bench, for, lacking Coach Loring’s prompting, Captain Crowell failed to so much as cock an eye at the substitute goal-tend. However, there was no necessity at any stage of the game for a relief for Frank Lamson. Frank had so little to do that he was palpably bored, since as poorly as Yardley played that day Nordham somehow managed to play far worse. Her forwards performed fairly well, considering an entire absence of team-play, but her defense was pitifully weak and Yardley, once past the center of the rink, had only to keep on her feet in order to score. Twelve tallies in the first period against two for Nordham, and seven more in the last to the visitor’s three was the outcome of the contest. The spectators hung over the barrier listlessly and almost went to sleep until, toward the end, when Crowell put in three substitute forwards and a substitute cover point, the contest became so much like a parody on hockey that they found amusement in making fun of the players. If any particular member of either squad stood out prominently it was Arnold, for Arnold had a particularly good day and scored eight of the nineteen goals. Soft ice seemed to make less difference with his skating than with that of his fellow players, for he dashed up and down and in and out in a particularly startling manner. Nor did he lose the puck as the rest did. Even along the boards on the soft side of the rink he had perfect control over it. Toby, watching, was very proud of Arnold and almost forgot about controlling the temper when Simpson, beside him, remarked to his neighbor beyond that “Deering was making a fine play to the gallery!” As an example of scientific hockey that game was a dismal failure, and as an afternoon’s amusement it was no more successful from the viewpoint of the audience. The latter turned away when the final whistle blew looking very much as though it thought it had wasted the better part of an hour and a half. Captain Crowell was a bit peevish afterwards, in the locker-room at the gymnasium, and was heard to speculate pessimistically on what was to happen three weeks later, finally observing that he guessed the only thing that would save Yardley from getting the hide licked off her was a thaw!