ested than the previous
one had been. Scranton rallied behind Hugh, and put up a savage
attack that carried them up a couple of pegs, the score then standing
eight to seven; but after a bit Keyport came back and tied it again.
So it remained until the limit of the game approached perilously
near, and it seemed as though an extension of time would have to be
granted, as the rules allowed. But at the last minute, Hugh himself
carried out a daring steal of the puck; and, before the opposing
players could block him, shot it into their net for the winning score.

Before the players could get in position again, and the puck be
faced, the whistle of the referee declared the game over, with
Scranton a bare winner.

The Keyport players were plainly greatly chagrined, but they proved
game losers, and had not a fault to find, shaking hands cheerfully
with their late opponents, and expressing a hope that a return match
could be arranged on their rink at some date not far in the future.

CHAPTER XIV

ENCOURAGING NICK

It was well on toward noon when Hugh, tired of skating for one day,
started homeward. For a wonder he walked by himself, something Hugh
seldom had happen; for if his chum Thad Stevens was not at his side,
some other fellow, possibly several, would be sure to hurry so as to
catch up with him.

But Thad had been compelled to go home an hour before on some
account, his folks having certain plans that forced him to accompany
them immediately after lunch.

Hugh was feeling a bit tired, but in good spirits, nevertheless,
because of the clever victory his team had won, in which he had borne
his part consistently. It always gives a boy a warm sensation around
the region of his heart to realize that he has not failed those who
put their faith in his ability. How many can look back with a
feeling of pride to that "great day" when it was their home-run
drive, or whistling three-bagger that pulled the home team out of a
slump, and started a batting-bee that, eventually, won the game?
Those days are marked with a red letter in the pages of memory.

When part way to town, for the athletic grounds lay outside the
limits of Scranton, though not far away, Hugh suddenly discovered a
familiar figure just ahead of him, which, somehow, he had not noticed
up to then. It was Nick Lang. He had his skates dangling over his
shoulder by a strap, and Hugh could actually catch his whistle as he
strode along.

Somehow this