replied Dick dryly. "There's just one thing to do, Morris."
"What's that?" asked Morris, groaning as the car went over a jounce.
"Keep it quiet," answered Dick. "None of the fellows know that you're badly hurt—if you are, of course—and it mustn't get around. Springdale must think we've still got you to kick field-goals. We can fake along somehow, Morris. The doctor will let you come out in togs and sit on the bench, anyway, I guess, and maybe you can trot about a bit."
"Don't see what good that'll do if I can't play," objected the other dejectedly.
"It'll do some good, Morris. We'll have to change our plans for the Springdale game, but we needn't let Springdale know we've changed them. See?"
"Oh!" muttered Morris thoughtfully.
"Now, when you get home you telephone for the doctor at once and get his verdict. But swear him to secrecy, Morris, and swear everyone of your folks to secrecy too. Then call me up and tell me what he says. No, don't say anything over the 'phone but 'yes' or 'no.' If you say 'no' I'll know you can't play. But don't let a soul hear about it. If you can hobble out on Monday I'll come for you in the car.
