Somehow, Toby, wriggling out of his togs――which he might just as well have kept out of that day――couldn’t help thinking that if Mr. Loring had been on hand that afternoon that game would have been a heap more like hockey and less like a Donnybrook Fair. And also, he reflected, if Mr. Loring had been there one Tobias Tucker might have been allowed to take some slight part in the proceedings. With only three more games left on the schedule Toby’s chance of covering himself with glory and gaining the proud privilege of wearing the crossed hockey sticks on his sweater looked very slim. This thought, added to the load of gloom he was already carrying, was almost too much for him. He was rather miserable that evening. Mr. Loring returned to Yardley on Tuesday morning, a fact made known to Toby when he appeared at the rink while Toby and Grover Beech were earnestly striving to get the better of each other. He looked on for a minute or two and then, after Beech had sprawled into the net and he and Toby were pulling it back into position, he climbed over the barrier and joined them. “Try these on, Tucker,” he said, holding out a pair of goal-tender’s gloves of white buckskin. Toby, wondering, dropped his stick to the ice and tugged off the old woolen-lined glove from his right hand. “They may be too large for you,” continued Mr. Loring, “but I can have them changed. How do they seem?” “Fine,” answered Toby, awedly, working his fingers luxuriously back and forth and feeling the soft, smooth leather give pliably to every motion. Beech, taking the other glove from Toby, admired it warmly. “Gee, Mr. Loring, but those are dandy!” he said. “I’ll bet those cost something! See the open palm, Toby, and the peachy long cuffs on them. Are you going to wear them, sir?” “Me? No, I got them for Tucker,” replied the coach. “Do they seem all right, Tucker?” “Y-yes, sir, they――they’re wonderful, but I――I don’t think――” Toby was plainly embarrassed. “What I mean is,” he struggled on, “that they’re much too good, sir. You see, I can’t spend much on gloves.” “They’re supposed to be a present,” replied Mr. Loring. “If you’re too haughty to accept a present――” “Oh! No, sir, I’m not, but――but they’re a lot more expensive I guess, than they need be.” “It doesn’t pay to buy cheap leather, my boy. Put on the other one and get used to them.” “Yes, sir,” murmured Toby, flustered, trying to pick up his stick, accept the other glove from Beech and find words of thanks at the same moment, with the result that he fumbled stick, glove and speech! Beech chuckled, Mr. Loring smiled and Toby colored. “I――I’m most awfully much obliged,” the latter managed to enunciate at last. “I don’t know how to――to thank you, sir, and――” “Never mind,” laughed the coach. “Actions speak louder than words, Tucker, and I should say that gratitude had simply overwhelmed you!”