“Huh! You weren’t excited even then! And I guess a fellow that can stay cool when the bullets are knocking chips off the boat can keep his head even when nine or ten wild Indians are banging into the net and slashing his feet with their sticks! Blessed if I don’t believe Orson Crowell’s right, Toby! I guess you’re a born goal-tend!” “You and Crowell are sort of jumping at conclusions, I guess,” replied Toby. “I’m not even certain I could stop a puck if it came at me.” “Sure you could. It isn’t hard.” “You just said it was!” “Well, I mean it isn’t hard when you know how. Anyway, you’re going to report for hockey the day we get back if I have to lug you all the way to the rink!” “Think there’ll be ice by that time?” asked Toby. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look like it now. It’s been an awfully mild sort of winter so far. I wish it would snow for Christmas, don’t you? Christmas doesn’t seem like Christmas without snow. I’ll bet it’s dandy around your place in winter, eh?” “There’s plenty of winter,” laughed Toby. “It gets frightfully cold over there sometimes. Arn, if your father will let you you’ll come over for a few days, won’t you?” “Surest thing you know,” replied the other promptly. “I’ve promised six or eight times, haven’t I? But he won’t, I guess. You see, since mother died, dad likes to have me around at Christmas and times like that. Still, he might. We’ll ask him to-night, eh?” “All right. Isn’t this the tunnel? We’d better get our coats on, hadn’t we? Don’t you let me get lost when we get in there!” CHAPTER III THE MAN IN THE BROWN OVERCOAT