Dick nodded. "It's tough," he agreed grimly. "I'm awfully sorry, Morris."
"The silly doctor told me it was just as good as the other one, too! A fat lot he knows about it! What do you suppose I've done to it, Dick?"
Dick shook his head helplessly. "I don't know, Morris. I couldn't find anything like a break. Maybe it's just a wrench, after all."
"Gee, I hope so!" muttered the other. "I don't see how it happened, anyway, do you? He tackled me all right, didn't he?"
"He tackled below your knees," answered Dick grimly. "I could see that, even if the umpire couldn't. I suppose when you went down you twisted the leg somehow. Well, it's done now. I'm sorry for you, Morris, and I'm sorry for the team. It leaves us in a hole, all right. We've been counting on you all Fall, you see, and we've built our game around you. I don't suppose Tupper"
"He's not much good," Morris growled. "He doesn't seem to get any swing at the ball. Hang it all, Dick, I've got to play! That's all there is about it! If that fool doctor says I can't I—I'll tell him to forget it!"
"I'm afraid your folks won't forget it, though,"
