Page:Stanwood Pier--Crashaw brothers.djvu/138

118 Charles turned; the play had begun again. There was one furious scrimmage; then the timekeeper blew his whistle: the game was  over.

Instantly the St. John’s Sixth Formers were out on the ice, slipping, sliding, crowding  round their men—especially about Charles;  they were jubilant and hilarious. The St. Timothy’s players left them in possession of the rink and silently sat down outside to take off  their skating-boots; and the St. Timothy’s  spectators began silently to move away. But Edward lingered; he came up to his brother  and put his arm over his shoulder and pressed  his hand.

“You old chump!” he said. “What’s the use of our smashing you up—if you go ahead  and lick us just the same?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” said Charles. “It hurts.” He pointed to a cut on his lip. Help me off with these skating-boots, will you?”

He stretched himself out on the ground; Edward busied himself with the right foot and  a St. John’s boy with the left, and Charles,