Several things came hard to him. For a long time he could not learn to use both hands on his stick, and the exhortation from Casement: “Both hands, Tucker, both hands!” followed him everywhere. When he did get the hang of it, though, he found that he was far better off, if only for the reason that the stick was always in front of him and never getting mixed up with his skates. But besides that he discovered that it aided him a lot in keeping his balance and when dodging. And it was always ready for use, something that couldn’t be said for a trailing stick. Another thing that was difficult for him to master was dribbling instead of hitting the puck. Toby’s ball playing had left him with a natural inclination to use anything in the nature of a stick or club with a swing, and merely pushing the little hard-rubber disk along the ice seemed too slow. But after he had lost the puck innumerable times by striking it he understood the philosophy of dribbling. If Toby was slow to learn, at least, having learned, he remembered. The ambition to own his own stick took possession of him before long, and one afternoon he and Arnold and Homer Wilkins walked over to Greenburg and had a regular splurge of spending. To be sure, it was Arnold and Homer who left the most money behind, but Toby spent a whole half-dollar for the best hockey stick he could find and fifteen cents more for hot sodas. Selecting that stick was a long and serious matter. Toby left it largely to Arnold, and Arnold, sensible of the honor done him, was not to be hurried. “You want a Canadian rock elm stick,” he declared gravely. “Rock elm won’t fray on the edge the way other sticks will. Take rough ice and your stick will have whiskers all along the bottom of the blade if it isn’t made of the right stuff. And you want to choose one that’s got a close, straight grain, too. The grain ought to run perfectly straight with the haft and turn with the blade. Here’s one――No, it’s got a knot in it. See it? A good whack with another stick would break that there as sure as shooting.” “How’s this one?” asked Toby. “Too heavy, son. It isn’t seasoned, I guess. If you get one that isn’t dried and seasoned perfectly it’ll warp on you, and――” “I’d hate to have a hockey stick warp on me,” murmured Homer distastefully. “Still, I suppose I could take it off, eh?” “I guess this is the best of the lot,” continued Arnold, too much absorbed to heed levity. “It’s got a medium wide blade, with a knife edge; not too sharp, though, either. How do you like it? Feel good?” Toby hefted it doubtfully. “I think so. Only I thought maybe I’d rather have one with a narrower thingamabob.” “Narrower blade? But that’s a forward stick, T. Tucker. You want a stick for defense, don’t you? You can use this one at point or goal, either one. Those narrow blades won’t stop a puck the way the wide ones will. And it’s light, too, and has a peachy grain. I’ve got some tape you can have, so you needn’t buy any.”