Toby took his way back to the gymnasium through the snowy twilight with the rest. Personally he was less concerned with the disappointing outcome of the game than with the loss of his money. Of course he had wanted Yardley to win, but there are more important things in life than a hockey victory, and one of them is losing six dollars and twenty-five cents when that amount has been earned by hard labor and represents something very much like a small fortune. Every one else was talking at the top of his voice in the locker room and proving, at least to his own satisfaction, that, in spite of the final scores, the contest rightfully belonged to Yardley. “I wish Ted Halliday would fix up a return game with them,” said Framer earnestly. “That’s what I wish.” “That referee chap was crazy in the head like an onion,” proclaimed Simpson, who had been detached from the second team to take Dunphy’s place. “Every time we shot a goal he called offside on us.” “Oh, I guess he was all right,” said Jim Rose. “I know for a fact that Cap was offside that first time when I passed to him. There’s no use growling at the referee, Simp.” Toby waited around a few minutes for Arnold, but when he discovered him talking with Frank Lamson, still only partly dressed, he made his way out and walked over to Whitson alone. Back in Number 22, he searched for the missing box for the fifth or sixth time. A half-hearted attempt to polish up his morrow’s algebra was interrupted by the six o’clock bell and he went down to commons. The occupants of Table 14 had recovered their spirits, if they had lost them, and were very merry that evening. Or most of them were. Toby was not. Toby satisfied a healthy hunger in almost uninterrupted silence and viewed life gloomily. Supper was half over when Arnold came in. Gladwin at once started a discussion of the game and he and Arnold, who seldom agreed on any subject under the sun, were soon at it across the board. Gladwin was a bit cocky by reason of having been sent in in the overtime period and was more than ever inclined to think his own opinions about right. “We had the game sewed up until Lamson made that rotten fluke,” he declared. “Gee, a child could have stopped that shot! The puck wasn’t even going fast!” “I don’t believe any fellow would have stopped it,” answered Arnold stoutly. “I was right there and I saw it. Frank whisked it to the right and it hit off some one’s skate and a Warren chap had a clean path to the net. It was all done in a second and Frank didn’t have time to get into position again.” “Piffle! He was standing right by the left post when the shot was made,” returned Gladwin. “If he had kept his eye on the puck he’d have seen it and stopped it with his body. The trouble was he lost sight of it. I tell you, if you’re going to play goal――” “Oh, you make me tired,” said Arnold shortly. “If a goal-tend could stop every shot no one would ever win a game!”