There may be better ways of putting one’s self in condition to do justice to a Thanksgiving Day dinner than paddling a mile and a half in a canoe, walking five miles after that and finishing up with a forty-mile ride in an automobile. If there are, I can’t think of them at this moment. And at all events never, surely, were four hungrier boys ever gathered around a table than the quartet that did full and ample justice to Mr. Pennimore’s hospitality that evening. I shan’t go into many details regarding that repast, for I don’t want to make you envious, but it was an old-fashioned Thanksgiving banquet, with oysters from the host’s own oyster beds, a clear soup, celery and olives, a turkey that, as Alf said, would have been an ostrich if it had lived another day or two, a roast ham that fell to pieces under the carving knife, vegetables without end, a salad that held most all the colors of the rainbow and as many flavors, a pumpkin pie looking like a full[186] harvest moon, ice cream and sherbet in the form of turkeys seated on nests of yellow spun sugar, little cakes with all shades of icing, black grapes nearly as big as golf balls from the Sound View conservatories, apples like the pictures in nursery catalogues, oranges, pears, nuts and raisins and candy. And there was all the sweet cider they wanted, and, finally, black coffee and toasted crackers and some cheese that Tom helped himself to lavishly and afterwards viewed with deep suspicion.

It was almost nine when the chairs were pushed back and the diners adjourned to the big crackling fire in the library. Tom lowered himself cautiously into an armchair with a blissful groan.

“I don’t believe,” he said, “that I shall want to eat again until Christmas. I know now why the Puritans used to go to church in the morning on Thanksgiving Day. They never would have had enough energy to give thanks after dinner!”

Mr. Pennimore led the talk around to subjects nearest to the hearts of his guests and soon had them chattering merrily of school and sports. Tom begged him to come over some time and see a basket ball game.

[187]

“I’d like to,” said Mr. Pennimore, “but you know I close the house here to-morrow and go back to New York. I hardly think I shall be in Wissining again before spring. I’m sorry I can’t see some of your winter sports, Tom.”

“You ought to see us lick Broadwood at hockey,” said Gerald.

“Hockey? Let me see, we used to call that shinny or shinty when I was a boy, didn’t we?”

Alf explained the modern form of the game and they talked over the outlook for the season. “I’m going to get the team together in about a week,” he said. “Sometimes we have fairly good ice before Christmas, and when we don’t we can get a lot of practice at shooting in the gym. I’m going to try and make a goal out of Dan.”

“I’d like to play myself,” said Tom, “if Dan’s going to be the goal. What’s he going to do? Stand and hold his mouth open?”

“I’m going to try for the team, too, sir,” said Gerald importantly.

“Are you?” asked his father with a smile. “Well, don’t get hurt, son. Ice is hard stuff to fall on, and it seems to me that I recollect getting hit once or twice on the shins with a stick. It was rather painful, I believe.”

“It hurts like the dickens,” laughed Alf.[188] “And when your hands are cold and some one raps them it feels as though they were busted.”

“What do you play for?” asked Mr. Pennimore. “I mean what is the trophy?”

“There isn’t any, sir. We just play for the honor. Beating Broadwood is enough in itself.”

“Ah, I see. I was going to propose putting a cup up. How would that do?”

“Great!” exclaimed Alf.

“Go ahead, dad!” said Gerald eagerly. “A great big one!”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s necessary to have it very big, is it, Alf? Suppose I offer a cup to be played for for three years, the team winning twice to take permanent possession. Would that be a good plan?”

“Yes, sir, it would be a dandy idea,” answered Alf with enthusiasm. “The team that won it this year could keep it until next. It would be mighty nice of you, sir.”

“All right, I’ll attend to it when I get to town. I’ll have the silversmith make a sketch and send it down for you to pass on. I suppose he will have some ideas on the subject.”

“How big would it be, sir?” asked Gerald.

“Oh, I’ll leave that to you boys. What do you say, Alf?”

[189]

“I should think about eight inches high, sir; a sort of a loving-cup effect.”

“They might work in some crossed hockey sticks,” Dan suggested, “and the Yardley and Broadwood flags.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll remember that. You see what you think of the design that’s sent you, Alf, and then write the firm and suggest any changes you like. We’ll call it the—what shall we call it?”

“The Pennimore Cup, sir,” answered Alf and Tom in chorus.

“Hum; no, I’m not looking for glory. Let’s call it the Sound View Cup. How will that do?”

“Pennimore Cup sounds better, sir,” said Dan.

“I think so, too,” Alf agreed. “Let’s call it that, sir.”

“All right,” laughed their host. “I haven’t any objection. The Pennimore Cup it is, then. And I hope you fellows get it for good in the end.”

“I hope we get it this year, anyway,” said Alf. “I’ll get French—he’s our manager—to write over and tell Broadwood about it. It ought to please them.”

“It’ll please them so much,” murmured Tom[190] sleepily, “that they’ll come over here and carry it home with them.”

“If they do it will be after the hardest tussle they ever had,” declared Alf. “We’re going to have a hockey seven that will be a dandy!”

Dan and Alf and Tom said good night and good-by at ten. Gerald, since his father was to take his departure on the morrow, had obtained permission to spend the night at Sound View. The others shook hands with Mr. Pennimore on the porch and then piled into the automobile and were whisked home, a very tired and sleepy and contented trio. By all the rules and laws of compensation every last one of them ought to have suffered that night with indigestion. But they didn’t. Instead, they dropped into sound sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows and never woke until the sunlight was streaming in at the windows.

The lost canoes were recovered the next day. Alf’s was found caught on a snag at the up-stream end of Flat Island, Dan’s beached just below the railroad bridge. Some one had evidently seen it and pulled it ashore, thereby earning Dan’s deep gratitude.

A few days later the candidates for the hockey team were summoned to a meeting in the gymnasium[191] and Alf outlined the season’s plans to them. Faculty had agreed to allow them a schedule of eight games, with the Broadwood contest closing the season on the twentieth of February. The first game, with St. John’s, was arranged for January ninth. Alf said he wanted the fellows to put in every moment possible during the Christmas recess on skates.

“Play hockey if you can. If you can’t, take a hockey stick with you and learn to use it with both hands. Buy a puck and try shooting, too. Put a couple of sticks or stones on the ice and try to shoot the puck between them. You ought all of you to have a fair idea of hockey by the time you get back to school. We have a few dollars in the treasury already, but we are going to use that to build a rink on the meadow. So every fellow will have to buy his own sticks this year. From now until vacation there will be practice every afternoon but Saturdays in the baseball cage or in the rowing room. Of course, if we get ice we’ll go out of doors. You’d better each of you buy a book of rules and study it. You can get the book in Greenburg at Proctor’s, and it costs you only ten cents. So don’t tell me you can&rs............