There was no summons from the Office that day, and Toby began to take hope. By evening he was in quite an equable state of mind, thanks, perhaps, to an hour and a half of hard work on the rink. There’s nothing much better than outdoor exercise to restore a fellow’s mind to a normal condition. And for one twenty-minute period Toby had played goal against the second seven and for an hour before that had taken part in a hard, brisk practice, his visit to the bench having been of a scant ten-minute duration. Animated by the desperate resolve to wreak vengeance on Frank Lamson by beating him out for the position of first choice goal, Toby had worked harder than he ever had before, with the result that his playing had been almost of the spectacular kind during the time he had guarded the first team’s goal. Henry, who had been at the rink looking on a bit disconsolately, had told him afterwards, enthusiasm struggling against depression, that he had “knocked them down in great shape, Tucker, my lad, and no bally mistake about it!” And Toby had gone back to the gymnasium feeling a bit proud of himself and hugging the thought that revenge against Frank Lamson was certain and overwhelming. And then, in the upper hall, he had run plumb against Frank! That Arnold had said nothing to Frank of Toby’s accusation was at once evident, for Frank hailed the younger boy almost cordially. “Great stuff, Toby!” he said. “You and I are going to have a real race, eh? By ginger, old scout, I didn’t know you had it in you!” The accompanying laugh suggested, however, that he was not seriously disturbed. Toby colored, momentarily embarrassed. The last thing he wanted from Frank was congratulation! “Thanks,” he said stiffly. “Glad you like it.” “Well, don’t get grouchy about it!” exclaimed Frank. “Any one would think I’d insulted you. Go to the dickens, will you?” Toby passed him without response, trying hard to look haughty and dignified. That he wasn’t particularly successful in his effort was suggested by Frank’s amused laugh behind him. Later, on his way to the showers, Toby encountered Arnold. It seemed, he thought as he pulled the curtain across and turned the cold water on with more than usual disregard of results, that he was always running into Arn! After he had recovered from the first breath-taking shock of the shower he grumbled: “And he looks like he thought I was a worm, too, confound him! Any one would suppose that it was my fault! I had a perfect right to tell the truth about Frank. He did steal that money from me, and Arn’s saying he didn’t doesn’t alter the fact a bit. Maybe when he finds that Frank isn’t the fine hero he thinks he is he’ll come off his high horse. But he needn’t think I’m going to crawl, for I’m not. If he waits for me to apologize he will wait a mighty long while!”