How sweet those cheers must have sounded in the ears of Nick Lange, who for years had only earned the hoots and jeers of his fellows in Scranton, on account of their distrust, and his own evil ways.
Why, the Belleville folks sat up and rubbed their eyes.

They had never dreamed that any fellow not a professional player could prove himself such a marvelous wizard on steel runners.

Nick fairly dazzled them with his speed, his eccentric twistings when hotly pursued, and the clever way in which he kept that rubber disc just in front of his hockey stick, always carrying it along toward the point where he meant to strike for goal.
And when he did make that stroke vain were the frantic efforts of the usually dependable Leonard to block its amazing passage; for almost before he swung he heard the plug of the puck landing in the wire cage which he was especially set to guard, and knew that another tally had been added to Scranton's growing score.
The conditions had changed, and the shoe was now on the other foot.
Thanks to the fine playing of Nick Lang Scranton was now ahead, and it seemed extremely doubtful whether Belleville would have another chance to make a single tally.

The boys were plainly disconcerted by the excellent work of the substitute, and seemed to have lost much of that aggressive spirit so absolutely necessary in ice hockey in order to win games.

They played almost sullenly, as if realizing that it was all over but the shouting.
Vain were the efforts of Captain Kramer to put new life in his followers.