But there was no time for more words; Isham, the St. John’s captain, stood up in the forward sleigh and called for three cheers for St. Timothy’s; and at the end of them the horses were off at a jump, pursued by the answering cheers of St. Timothy’s for St. John’s.

Edward wrote to his mother that night; with the restrictions that had been imposed he tried to make his account of the game as graphic and stirring as possible—especially all that had to do with Charles. He was dissatisfied with his effort, and perhaps would have been even more displeased with it could he have seen his mother and father laughing together over one of the most impassioned passages.

His spelling was never very good, and it became more erratic than usual when his pen was driven by excitement.

“He went through the whole bunch like magic,” Edward wrote. “I was thrilled to the bone when I saw him emmerge, still carrying the puck and skateing like the wind. In another moment he had shot the goal, and I was proud to think that he was my brother.”