The game went on again. Toby, a little pale, crouched and watched. He was hating himself for letting the puck get by a minute ago. It had been almost impossible to follow it. Sticks, feet, bodies had mingled confusedly before him. He had repelled one attempt after another with skates and stick, the goal had tilted under the surge of the struggling players, blades had whacked against his leg-guards, the world had been a maelstrom of blue legs and crimson――and then the whistle had blown and, behold, there was the puck a fair six inches past the opening! How it had got by him he never knew, but there it was, and the goal umpire had waved his hand and the tragic blast of the whistle had sounded! And Toby’s heart was filled with woe! But there wasn’t much time to spend in regrets, for once more the Rock Hill forwards, strung out across the ice four-abreast, were bearing down on him. The puck slithered away across to the left and Arnold charged at his opponent. But a carom against the boards fooled him and the red-legged enemy secured the disk again and slid it back. Halliday missed it by an inch and he and the left center went down in a kicking heap. There was only Framer now, and the puck was but twenty feet away. Toby slid to the left, crouched, his heart beating hard. Framer tried to intercept the pass to the right wing but only succeeded in diverting the puck to the right center. Crowell, dashing in like a whirlwind, lifted the opponent’s stick, slashed at the puck, missed it and went past. Framer was on it――had it――was off down the ice, almost free! Followed a wild scramble then. The Rock Hill cover point fell slowly back to position. Crowell fell in behind Framer and Arnold tried hard to get into place for a pass. Then the cover point dashed forward, Framer slipped the puck to the right and dodged to the left, skates grated harshly, Arnold swerved in, reached, found the disk with his stick, circled back, passed across to Crumbie―― “_Shoot!_” yelled Crowell. “_Shoot!_” implored the spectators. But the Rock Hill point was rushing desperately at Crumbie, his stick slashing the ice, and it was Jim Rose, coming in from the rear, who hooked the puck away just in time and, miraculously dodging the defenders in front of the cage, banged it home for Yardley’s first score.