fender, his head hidden behind the upraised hood of the car.
“Tell your mother I’ll be in for supper in two shakes!” he yelled to them.
Scott smelled something good cooking the moment he opened the door. “Chicken and dumplings!” he cried. “Man! Will I go for
that!”
“Was wondering how soon you’d be home,” said Mom, coming in from the dining room, where she had just set the table. She looked
like a young girl with her curly dark hair andher petite figure. “Hurry. Suppers about ready.”
Both Scott and Cathy were finished washing when Dad came in. He tossed his coat over a chair, then washed his greasy hands.
He was all of six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His stomach bulged a little bit, though, a condition Mom—and sometimes
the children—kidded him about.
They sat at the table and said in unison, “Bless this food and us, O Lord, and thank you for the gifts you have given us this
day. Amen.”
“And please help me get on the Golden Bears hockey team,” added Scott.
Three pair of eyes focused on him. “What was that?” asked Dad.
“He’s going to play hockey with the Golden Bears!” Cathy cried before Scott had a chance to answer.
“Wait a minute, will you?” snapped Scott. “Nobody is
sure
I am,”
“All right,” said Mom. “Back off, both of you, and let’s hear it from the beginning—from Scott.”
Scott sighed. “Well,” he began, and told it from the beginning, except that there wasn’t much to tell and he had to leave
soon to be at Cass Rink by six-thirty.
“So you have to furnish a hockey stick and skates yourself,” said Dad.
“I haven’t checked my bank yet,” said Scott, “but I don’t think I’ve enough to buy both. I’m going to ask Buck Weaver if I
can sell papers for him for a week. I know he’ll let me. He hates his paper route in the wintertime.”
He arrived at Cass Rink a few minutes before six-thirty. It was crowded with kids, and so noisy you couldn’t hear yourself
think. All except three boys wore regular clothes, withsweaters or jackets. Each had on a helmet and each had a hockey stick and wore skates. The three boys, Scott was sure, were
goalies from the looks of their heavy, padded uniforms, extra-large sticks, and shin guards.
“There he is!” a voice shouted above the din. “Hey, Scott!”
Skinny McCay broke from the crowd and sprinted toward him. Del trailed. He didn’t seem as excited about seeing Scott as Skinny
did.
“Hi,” greeted Scott. He felt jittery, scared. “Everybody’s got a stick,” he said. “And a helmet.”
“Don’t worry,” drawled Skinny. “Coach Roberts will get you a stick and a helmet even if he has to take it from somebody.”
Scott smiled. If Skinny skated as slowly as he talked he would be next to useless!
“C’mon,” said Skinny. “We’ll introduce you to Coach Roberts.”
We? Del didn’t seem to care whether he went along or not.
Scott saw a man surrounded by several kids near the goal netting and followed Skinny to him.
“Coach Roberts!” cried Skinny
The coach looked up. He was tall and thin and wore a blue turtleneck sweater. “Hi, Skinny.”
Skinny skated up to him with Scott close behind. “This is the kid I was telling you about, Coach. Scott Harrison.”
The coach smiled and put out his hand. Scott gripped it. “Hi, Scott. Heard you beat Del Stockton in a race.”
Scott shrugged shyly.
“Ever play hockey?”
“Just shinny,” said Scott.
“Then you’ve got some learning to do. But don’t worry. It won’t take you long—not if you’re fast on your skates.” He glancedat Scott’s skates. “You’ll have to get hockey skates. But I’ll let you get away with those today. Don’t you have a stick?”
“No.”
The coach looked at a stocky boy beside him. “Fat, there are a couple on a bench in the locker room. Bring one, will you,
please?”
Fat squirted away.
Skinny nudged Scott. “Fat’s my brother,” he said.
“Tell your mother I’ll be in for supper in two shakes!” he yelled to them.
Scott smelled something good cooking the moment he opened the door. “Chicken and dumplings!” he cried. “Man! Will I go for
that!”
“Was wondering how soon you’d be home,” said Mom, coming in from the dining room, where she had just set the table. She looked
like a young girl with her curly dark hair andher petite figure. “Hurry. Suppers about ready.”
Both Scott and Cathy were finished washing when Dad came in. He tossed his coat over a chair, then washed his greasy hands.
He was all of six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His stomach bulged a little bit, though, a condition Mom—and sometimes
the children—kidded him about.
They sat at the table and said in unison, “Bless this food and us, O Lord, and thank you for the gifts you have given us this
day. Amen.”
“And please help me get on the Golden Bears hockey team,” added Scott.
Three pair of eyes focused on him. “What was that?” asked Dad.
“He’s going to play hockey with the Golden Bears!” Cathy cried before Scott had a chance to answer.
“Wait a minute, will you?” snapped Scott. “Nobody is
sure
I am,”
“All right,” said Mom. “Back off, both of you, and let’s hear it from the beginning—from Scott.”
Scott sighed. “Well,” he began, and told it from the beginning, except that there wasn’t much to tell and he had to leave
soon to be at Cass Rink by six-thirty.
“So you have to furnish a hockey stick and skates yourself,” said Dad.
“I haven’t checked my bank yet,” said Scott, “but I don’t think I’ve enough to buy both. I’m going to ask Buck Weaver if I
can sell papers for him for a week. I know he’ll let me. He hates his paper route in the wintertime.”
He arrived at Cass Rink a few minutes before six-thirty. It was crowded with kids, and so noisy you couldn’t hear yourself
think. All except three boys wore regular clothes, withsweaters or jackets. Each had on a helmet and each had a hockey stick and wore skates. The three boys, Scott was sure, were
goalies from the looks of their heavy, padded uniforms, extra-large sticks, and shin guards.
“There he is!” a voice shouted above the din. “Hey, Scott!”
Skinny McCay broke from the crowd and sprinted toward him. Del trailed. He didn’t seem as excited about seeing Scott as Skinny
did.
“Hi,” greeted Scott. He felt jittery, scared. “Everybody’s got a stick,” he said. “And a helmet.”
“Don’t worry,” drawled Skinny. “Coach Roberts will get you a stick and a helmet even if he has to take it from somebody.”
Scott smiled. If Skinny skated as slowly as he talked he would be next to useless!
“C’mon,” said Skinny. “We’ll introduce you to Coach Roberts.”
We? Del didn’t seem to care whether he went along or not.
Scott saw a man surrounded by several kids near the goal netting and followed Skinny to him.
“Coach Roberts!” cried Skinny
The coach looked up. He was tall and thin and wore a blue turtleneck sweater. “Hi, Skinny.”
Skinny skated up to him with Scott close behind. “This is the kid I was telling you about, Coach. Scott Harrison.”
The coach smiled and put out his hand. Scott gripped it. “Hi, Scott. Heard you beat Del Stockton in a race.”
Scott shrugged shyly.
“Ever play hockey?”
“Just shinny,” said Scott.
“Then you’ve got some learning to do. But don’t worry. It won’t take you long—not if you’re fast on your skates.” He glancedat Scott’s skates. “You’ll have to get hockey skates. But I’ll let you get away with those today. Don’t you have a stick?”
“No.”
The coach looked at a stocky boy beside him. “Fat, there are a couple on a bench in the locker room. Bring one, will you,
please?”
Fat squirted away.
Skinny nudged Scott. “Fat’s my brother,” he said.
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