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Neither, however, was required to undertake such feats of self-sacrifice. Perhaps the nearest approach to them occurred when Joe stood about on the ice, with the thermometer hovering around zero, his feet numb and his fingers aching, while he admiringly watched Jack struggle for a position on the First Team, or when Jack, as became his custom when duties allowed, tramped by Joe’s side through slush or sleet or rain over Route 6! They were together whenever it was possible, and when it wasn’t they were either signalling across schoolrooms or using up Mr. Strobe’s and Aunt Sarah’s monthly allowance of telephone calls.

January passed into history very happily for Joe. He was earning enough to pay Aunt Sarah all but fifty cents a week for his accommodations, he was doing well at his studies, he was getting cheerful letters every few days from his mother, and he was enjoying the jolliest, finest sort of friendship. When the hockey team journeyed to Preston Mills to play the academy fellows and Jack went along as a possible necessary substitute forward, Joe went along also and huddled in his coat on a settee and held Jack’s ulster and saw the Brown-and-Blue go down in defeat to the tune of four to three in an overtime contest, and mourned with the others on the way back, and with them vowed dire vengeance when Preston paid a return visit. That day a substitute delivered Joe’s papers and he was short fifty cents the following Monday and went without pocket-money for a whole week. But he didn’t mind—much. It was worth more than that, much more, to accompany Jack to Preston Mills.