“Oh, well, they didn’t play hockey then as they do now. The game’s just about twice as far advanced as it was then. I guess that’s the trouble with Loring. He’s still trying to teach the old-style game. Frank says――” “What the dickens does Frank know about it?” asked Toby, a trifle impatiently. “Well, he knows more about it than you do, doesn’t he? Anyway, all I’m trying to tell you is that Loring may have promised more than――than he can deliver. When he tells you that by practicing hard and all that you can make yourself a better goal-tend than Henry he’s stretching things a bit. He wanted to say something nice, I guess. Or maybe he wanted to make you work harder. Frank says Loring wasn’t asked up here to coach the seven this year. He just came. He coached last year and we got licked to a frazzle. Crowell wanted some one else, but there didn’t seem to be any one, and Loring offered to come――” “I think he’s a mighty good coach,” said Toby warmly, “no matter what Frank Lamson or any other fellow says. And I don’t see that Frank is in position to know more about it than I am, for that matter, Arn.” “You won’t deny that he’s had more hockey experience, I suppose?” “No, but――” Toby stopped. He had almost said that Frank’s experiences hadn’t done him an awful lot of good. Instead; “But I don’t think that having played last year makes a――a critic of him. Maybe it wasn’t Mr. Loring’s fault that we lost to Broadwood last year. A coach can’t turn out a winning team unless he has the material.” “Our material was all right. It was just as good as this year’s, every bit. Loring’s a back-number, that’s all. Frank was saying the other day that if Crowell had got hold――” “Oh, bother what Frank says!” interrupted Toby, peevishly. “You make me tired, always quoting Frank Lamson, Arn. You’d think he was the only fellow in school! He isn’t any better judge of Mr. Loring’s coaching than you or me.” Arnold flushed. “How long,” he asked, “since you sat yourself up as a hockey authority?” “I don’t. But I know as much hockey as Frank Lamson does right this minute, even if he has played the game longer.” “Yes, you do! You’re getting a swelled head, Toby, that’s the matter with you. You think that just because Loring patted you on the head and told you you were a great little goal-tend that you know it all. When fellows who have played the game for years say that Loring’s no good as a coach――” “No one does say so but Lamson! And what he says is piffle. And you can tell him I said so, if you like!” “It wouldn’t bother him a bit,” answered Arnold angrily. “But if you can’t speak decently of folks you’d better keep your mouth shut, Toby. Frank’s a friend of mine, and a friend of yours, too, and――” Toby laughed loudly. “A friend of mine, is he? That’s a good one!” “He certainly is! Has he ever done anything that wasn’t friendly?” “Has he ever done anything that was?” “Lots!” “Piffle!” “Oh, all right. Have it your way, Mr. Smart Aleck! Frank――”