When, on his way downstairs, he knocked at the door of Number 12 and was invited to enter, he found only Homer Wilkins within. Homer was still very incompletely attired and very sleepy looking, and he informed Toby with a prodigious yawn, that Arn had gone on down. “He’s a regular Little Brighteyes,” he complained. “No worm would have half a chance with Arn. What’s the weather like, Toby?” “Great! You’d better hustle if you want any breakfast.” “I don’t expect any,” replied Homer sadly. “I haven’t had a square meal in the morning since I’ve been here. Everything’s sold out when I get down. They ought to have a lunch-wagon for fellows――” But Toby didn’t hear the rest. Arnold was busily adorning his plate of oatmeal with much cream and sugar when Toby reached the table. Only four others were on hand so far. “Morning,” greeted Toby as he sat down and pulled his napkin out of its numbered ring. “Hello, Tucker!” “Morning, Toby!” “Greetings!” “Shove that sugar-bowl along this way, will you?” Arnold, however, only looked up briefly and nodded. Toby’s face fell. When one is ready to apologize and make up it is most disheartening to find that the other party isn’t ready! Evidently Arnold was nursing resentment, and Toby knew that as a nurse for that sort of thing Arn was hard to beat. But he pretended that he observed nothing different in his friend’s attitude and was quite chatty――for Toby. Will Curran, who had been severely lectured by his older brother for snobbishness, showed a desire to make amends and was unusually attentive to Toby. By the time the table had filled up, which was only when the leisurely Homer Wilkins had fallen wearily into the chair at Arnold’s left, Arnold had forgotten to look hurt and proud and was holding an animated discussion with Gladwin on the subject of hockey skates. Glad, as he was generally called, was firm for the half-hockey style and Arnold pinned his faith on the full. “A straight blade is all right for racing,” declared Gladwin, “but it’s too slow for hockey.” “Too slow!” exclaimed Arnold. “How do you mean, too slow? You get more surface to the ice and――” “That’s all right when you’re skating, but when you want to turn quickly――” “Oh, shucks! Look here, Glad, you take a skate that’s got a round toe and how are you going to start quickly? You can’t dig your toes in, can you?” “No, but you don’t have to. A fellow can start just as quick on the edge. A long, flat blade is――” “Oh, poppycock! You never saw a racer start on the edge, I’ll bet! Look at the Canadians. You don’t deny that they know more hockey than we do, do you?” “They did,” responded Glad cautiously, “but we’re catching up with ’em nowadays. Anyway――” “Well, they know hockey, son, and they use a full-hockey skate every time! If that doesn’t prove it――”