“Andy, I wish you’d wrap some tape around here,” said Alf, presenting his wrist to the trainer. “I sent Pennimore up for my wristlet but I guess he couldn’t find it.”

“Lame, is it?” asked Andy. “That’ll fix it. Tell Hanley not to over-skate, cap. He missed a dozen passes last half. There you are,” he added, as he snipped the end of the tape with his scissors. “Are you going to put the subs in at the end?”

“Yes, if I can, Andy. Give me the word when there’s a minute or two left, will you? All right, fellows! Now let’s get this game. Hanley, you’ve got to stop getting ahead of the line. You’re missing the pass time and again. Keep back, man; take your position from Roeder and watch the puck. Durf, you’ve got to quit slashing with that stick or you’ll be sitting on the boards; the referee’s got his eye on you. Don’t get ruled off,[269] for the love of Mike! We’ve got all we can do to win with seven men, let alone six. Come on now and let’s get this game and nail it down!”

“What’s this we hear about no hockey cup, Loring?” asked the Broadwood captain, skating up as Alf jumped into the rink.

“Oh, it’s a bit of mean luck, Graham,” answered Alf. “Some one bagged it out of the room the other day and we haven’t laid eyes on it since. We thought, of course, that some smart Aleck had taken it for a joke, but I guess now it was really stolen.”

“That’s hard luck,” said Graham. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see the cup myself, but I heard it was a dandy.”

“It was. It will be all right, of course; I mean that if it doesn’t turn up there’ll be another to take its place, but I suppose we can’t get a new one made for a month or so. I’m awfully sorry about it, and I feel rather cheap, too, having to ’fess up to you chaps that I’ve let it get away. If I could find the fellow who took it I’d come pretty near wringing his fool neck!”

The Broadwood captain smiled sympathetically and the referee’s whistle summoned the players. The spectators, who had many of them left their positions to wander about, scurried back to[270] the rink side. Joe Chambers searched feverishly for his notebook—for the Scholiast would have a full and detailed account of the game in its next issue. Harry Merrow squirmed his way to the front row between two good-natured Greenburg citizens; Tom and Paul Rand mounted their box near one corner of the rink; Andy Ryan snapped his bag shut and compared his watch with that of the timer’s; Yardley and Broadwood cheered vociferously; the referee tossed the puck down between the impatient sticks and the last half began.

Up on the hill at that moment, in No. 7 Dudley, Gerald was crouching on the floor and listening anxiously for the sound of footsteps in the corridor. They came finally, drawing nearer and nearer, and at length stopping outside the door. There was a knock, then silence. Another knock, and the door swung softly inward. Cautious footsteps crossed the floor to the table. Gerald raised his head above the level of Tom’s bed. Hiltz, his eyes fixed anxiously on the windows and his ears straining for sounds in the building, fumbled under his big ulster. Then the familiar maroon-colored bag appeared and he laid it on the table, the cup and base betraying their presence by muffled rattling that sounded startlingly[271] loud in the silent room. Hiltz turned away, still listening intently, and took one step across the carpet. Then his gaze left the windows, traveled half around the room and fell full on Gerald’s.

Hiltz uttered no sound, but the color fled from his face, leaving it white and drawn. His wide, startled eyes held Gerald’s for a long moment. It was Gerald who finally broke the tension and the silence. He arose, brushed the dust from his knees and seated himself on Alf’s bed.

“His wide, startled eyes held Gerald’s for a long moment.”

“Well?” he said.

The color crept back into Hiltz’s cheeks and his expression of fright gave place to one of sullen defiance.

“Well?” he echoed.

“You’ve brought it back,” said Gerald, nodding at the cup. “I said all along that you had taken it.”

“I didn’t take it!” said Hiltz defiantly. “I found it—just now—by accident, and——”

“Where did you find it?” asked Gerald coolly.

“In the cellar—in Whitson,” replied Hiltz, after the barest instant of hesitancy.

“How did you happen to go there?” asked Gerald with a smile. “You were at the rink half an hour ago.”

“I went to get something.”

[272]

“Yes, and you got it, and there it is. What’s the use of lying about it, Hiltz?”

Hiltz’s gaze wandered to the door. Then he shrugged his shoulders and sat down in a chair by the table.

“That’s right,” he said. “I took it. I guess you know why.”

Gerald shook his head. “I don’t believe I do, Hiltz. Why?”

“To make trouble for you and Vinton, of course,” answered the other recklessly. “I didn’t want the old cup; I wasn’t stealing it. I meant to bring it back last night and put it in your room, and I tried to, but there wasn’t any chance. There were always fellows about, and after what Collins said I didn’t want to be caught. I guess you’ve got me where you want me now, Pennimore. Of course, I might deny the whole thing,” he went on musingly, “and say that you made up the story, but I guess no one would believe me.”

Gerald considered judicially. Then he shook his head.

“No, I don’t believe they would. You see, Hiltz, we all suspected you from the first, but we couldn’t prove anything. If you ask me, I think it was a silly thing to do.”

“I don’t ask you,” said Hiltz angrily. “I[273] don’t give a hang what you think. You don’t like me and I don’t like you, and you can go to Collins this minute, but I don’t have to listen to any of your fool opinions.”

“Why didn’t you bring it back Friday morning, when you had a chance, and say that it was only a joke?” asked Gerald curiously.

“Because I wasn’t ready to. You and that fool Vinton weren’t worried enough then.”

“I don’t believe either Dan or I worried half as much as Alf did.”
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