lly savage. He
came down the ice toward the center, yelling defiance and threats of
vengeance. "Come on here! Don't waste time. Let us at them. We'll knock
them clear off the ice."

It was Dan's drop. As he was preparing to face off, the master skated up
and asked the umpire for time. At once the crowd gathered round.

"What's the matter?" "What's up?" "What do you want?" came on all sides
from the Front team, now thoroughly aroused and thirsting for vengeance.

"Mr. Umpire," said the master, "I want to call your attention to a bit
of foul play that must not be allowed to go on"; and then he described
Jimmie Ben's furious attack upon Hughie.

"It was a deliberate trip, as well as a savage swipe at a man's shins
when the ball was not near."

At once Jimmie Ben gave him the lie, and throwing down his club, slammed
his cap upon the ice and proceeded to execute a war-dance about it.

For a few moments there was a great uproar, and then the master's voice
was heard again addressing the umpire.

"I want to know your ruling upon this, Mr. Umpire"; and somehow his
voice commanded a perfect stillness.

"Well," said the umpire, hesitating, "of course--if a man trips it is
foul play, but--I did not see any tripping. And of course--swiping at
a man's shins is not allowed, although sometimes--it can't very well be
helped in a scrimmage."

"I merely want to call your attention to it," said the master. "My
understanding of our arrangements, Mr. Munro," he said, addressing the
Front captain, "is that we are here to play shinny. You have come up
here, I believe, to win the game by playing shinny, and we are here to
prevent you. If you have any other purpose, or if any of your men have
any other purpose, we would be glad to know it now, for we entered this
game with the intention of playing straight, clean shinny."

"That's right!" called out Hec Ross; "that's what we're here for." And
his answer was echoed on every side, except by Jimmie Ben, who continued
to bluster and offer fight.

"O, shut your gab!" finally said Farquhar Bheg, impatiently. "If you
want to fight, wait till after the game is done."

"Here's your cap, Jimmie," piped a thin, little voice. "You'll take cold
in your head." It was little French Fusie, holding up Jimmie's cap on
the end of his shinny club, and smiling with the utmost good nature, but
with infinite impudence, into Jimmie's face.

At once there was a general laugh at Jimmie Ben's expense, who