Despite their many injuries â or maybe because of them â the Mets wanted to take care of business quickly. With another full house of four thousand fans screaming their support, the Seattle speedsters came out flying. The Canadiens stood their ground, hoping the Mets would tire themselves out. Vézina made a few good saves, but Frank Foyston found the net at 5:40 of the first period. He'd picked the puck up from a scramble in front and beat the Montreal goalie with a quick shot to the far corner.
Immediately, Newsy called in two of his substitutes. “Cleghorn for Corbeau,” the captain ordered. “Berlinquette for Couture.”
For the next nine minutes no one scored, but the Mets had the better of the play. Then Jack Walker scooped up the puck near centre ice. He zigzagged through the Canadiens' defence and beat Vézina to make the score 2â0. That was how the first period ended, but just 1:18 after the intermission Walker scored again and Seattle led 3â0.
Both teams switched their players often during the second period, and the extra man the Canadiens were carrying started to make a difference. Pitre and Lalonde were pouring it on, but Holmes was having another great game. Nothing got past him, and the score was still 3â0 Seattle when the second period ended. The Mets' fans cheered their team off the ice, certain they were twenty minutes away from becoming Stanley Cup champions.
The mood inside the Canadiens' dressing room was surprisingly upbeat.
“It's okay, boys! It's okay!” Cleghorn kept saying over and over as David passed out the towels. “The tide's turning. It's going our way. We just gotta get that first one!”
“Odie's right!” Couture hollered. “We get one, we're gonna get a bunch. You can feel it!”
There were similar expressions of confidence from most of the players around the room. Vézina was his usual silent self, but that was what everyone expected. They would have been worried if he suddenly started getting excited. Corbeau wasn't yelling much, either, but he looked as if he couldn't wait to get back out there as Al re-taped the wrap on his injured shoulder. Only Joe seemed unusually quiet. He was pale, too. Pitre had dropped back on defence to take his spot during the second period, and Joe hadn't returned to the ice after that.
“You all right?” David asked him.
Joe glanced up. His eyes seemed glassy. “I'll be okay.
Just need some more rest.” He smiled weakly. “I'm not as young as I used to be.”
But it was obvious that ten minutes in the dressing room wasn't enough time for him. Joe was worn out, and Newsy could see that his old rival was in no condition to go back on the ice. “Didier,” the captain said, “you'll keep playing with Bert on defence. Odie, I want you up front with me. You, too, Billy.”
Newsy looked around the dressing room. He liked what he saw in his teammates' eyes. “Okay, boys,” he said after a moment, “let's go.”
Newsy beat Foyston for the opening faceoff, and the Canadiens poured into the Seattle end. They kept the pressure on but still couldn't put the puck past Holmes. The Mets had their share of chances, too, but Vézina turned every shot aside. Then Couture picked up the puck deep in the Canadiens' zone.
Couture usually played defence, but Newsy had been using him on the wing a lot in the series. He hadn't added much scoring punch, but he'd been using his size to advantage against the smaller Mets defencemen. Now he showed his skillful side, too. Couture raced from end to end, stickhandling neatly into the Seattle zone. Then he zipped the puck across the ice for Cleghorn ⦠and Odie scored!
Seattle 3, Montreal 1.
Newsy mussed Odie's hair with a gloved hand. He tapped Couture on the butt with his stick. “Nice work. Now take a break.”
Berlinquette replaced Couture and lined up for the faceoff on Lalonde's left. Cleghorn remained on the right wing. Again Newsy won the draw, and the three Canadiens forwards sped to the attack. Using Odie as a decoy, Newsy slipped a nice pass over to Berlinquette. Louis stepped around Roy Rickey on the Seattle defence, then froze Bobby Rowe with a quick pass back to Newsy. The captain snagged the puck and moved in on Holmes. Faking one way, then moving the other, Newsy fooled the goalie again. Just one minute later the team had another mark on the scoreboard.
Seattle 3, Montreal 2.
“Told ya!” Couture shouted on the bench. “They're gonna start coming in bunches now!”
But the scoring stopped after that. Both teams had plenty of chances, but Holmes and Vézina matched each other save for save.
Time was running out when Newsy led another assault on the Seattle end. The Canadiens were buzzing around the net, but Holmes kept the puck out. He made a tough save on one sizzling shot, and the rebound went straight up in the air. Newsy reached as high as he could and knocked the puck down with his glove. As it was falling, he swung his stick like a baseball bat and swatted the falling disk into the net.
The score was tied 3â3. The Mets' lead was gone. Their fans were stunned.
With only three minutes left to play neither team wanted to see overtime again. Both sides went at it hard for the winning goal, but Holmes and Vézina refused to be beaten. The score was still tied when the timer sounded his whistle to end the third period.
The league officials in charge of the Stanley Cup series had decided that if any more games went into overtime, they would be played to the finish no matter how long it took. It seemed impossible that the game's fast pace could be kept up beyond sixty minutes, but this one raced on and on again with no end in sight. The Mets had some good chances early, but Vézina stopped them. When the play started going the Canadiens' way, Holmes staved off defeat with save after save.
Finally, after fifteen minutes, the Canadiens got a break. The blade broke on one of Walker's skates and he had to go off for repairs. Then Foyston took a hit on his wounded thigh and collapsed in pain. He struggled off the ice, and Seattle suddenly found itself missing its two best players. Even worse, the Mets had no substitutes left they could use, so when Cully Wilson came to the bench gasping for breath, there was no one to go on in his place. Wilson had to stay out there.
Like everyone else in the rink, David was up on his feet. From where he stood at the Canadiens' bench, he was the first one to see the confusion on the Seattle side. Jack McDonald spotted it, too.
McDonald hadn't seen any action for the Canadiens since the end of the third period, but he'd come onto the ice just a short while before Foyston got hurt. He was the freshest man in the game, and he sprung into action. McDonald scooped up the loose puck and steamed into the Seattle end. He split the defence of Rowe and Rickey, then moved in alone on Holmes. McDonald snapped a quick shot on goal and scored!
The Canadiens won the game 4â3. The comeback was complete.
The team was still alive ⦠and so were David's chances of finding his uncle.
Joe Hall had a fever, and it was a pretty high one. David was worried. How could he be anything else after what he'd been through with the flu in the fall? But no one else seemed to think Joe's fever was cause for much concern. Not even Dr. Stephens, who was called in to examine him on Sunday morning.
“It's just exhaustion,” the doctor said. “Nothing more. He'll be fine when he gets some rest. From what I hear,” he added with a shake of his head, “it's amazing they haven't all keeled over after the way they've played these last two games.”
In fact, Cully Wilson had collapsed on the ice after Jack McDonald's winning goal. His teammates had to carry him back to the Seattle dressing room. Wilson was running a fever, too.
At least the teams had two more days off before the final game. Mr. Kennedy and Pete Muldoon agreed to wait until Tuesday to play it. That would be April 1. It seemed unlikely that Joe would be ready to play by then, but everyone knew he would if he could. For now, though, he needed rest.
With nothing really to do on Sunday and the weather rainy again, David decided to go out at noon and see a movie. There were several theatres in the area, and he walked up to the Colonial. It was a block north of the hotel on Fourth Avenue where Westlake cut between Pike and Pine. It was one of those triangle-shaped intersections, and the Plaza Hotel stood in the middle like the bow of a giant ship.
A lot of the hockey players had spent their free time around this area during the team's stay in Seattle. There were several restaurants there, as well as Greenland Billiards, where some of them liked to shoot pool. The Colonial Theatre had a tall sign out front that stood well above any of the other signs on the street. That made it easy to spot.
For the price of a dime, David watched two movies. The first was a comedy called
Society Stuff
with Alice Howell. The second film was
Never Say Quit
. It starred George Walsh. The sign out front said it was “a comedy full of tough luck and laughs.” It was pretty funny, and lots of people in the theatre were laughing, but David actually found it a little bit sad. In a strange way the story reminded him of his own situation.
George Walsh plays a man named Reginald Jones. He has thirteen letters in his name and was born on Friday the thirteenth in a house on 113th Street. Naturally, bad luck follows him around. Reginald loses all his money in the stock market, but then finds out he's going to inherit a fortune from his aunt â provided he can make it to her funeral on time. It seems easy enough, but on his way, Reginald gets tricked by some con men and winds up missing it. When he arrives too late, his uncle throws him out.
Desperate for money, Reginald takes a job working on a ship. Turns out, though, that the ship is being run by pirates ⦠or a gang of crooks, anyway. They have plans to kidnap the old professor who's travelling onboard with his daughter. In the end, things turn out all right for Reginald. He fights the crooks with his flying fists, rescues the professor, and even gets the girl.
And they all live happily ever after.
David wondered if his own story was going to end that way or not.
The man at the front desk was watching for David when he got back to the hotel. “There's a message for you.” He handed David an envelope.
David tore it open eagerly and pulled out the piece of paper inside.
David,
I can wait at my desk until 3:30. If you're back by then, please come and see me. I think it's good news!
â Madge Bailey
P.S. Bring your photo.
“What time is it?” David asked the man at the desk.
“Ten past three.”
“Thank you!” David cried over his shoulder as he turned and ran for the stairs. He went up to his room and got the photograph, then raced back down and across the street.
Madge Bailey was smiling when she saw him running toward her desk a few minutes later. “I think it's him.”
David didn't need to ask who.
“Daniel Williams telephoned me at home a little past noon. He told me his name had been Danny Wilson when he was a boy and that he was adopted by Gerald and Stella Embury. They left Montreal in 1899 and came to Seattle in 1902. His mother remarried after his father died. That's why his name isn't Embury anymore.”
That was just what Joe had suspected, yet the rest of the pieces fitted David's story almost perfectly. In fact, Mrs. Bailey had wondered if they fitted too perfectly.