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CHAPTER XVII
THE TRAMP AGAIN
"He's in a dead faint—give him air," ordered Dean Ritchie.
"Get a dipper of water," said Frank quickly, letting Bob slip gently to the grass.
There was a pump just beyond the enclosure. Ned ran to it, and soon Frank was sponging Bob's face with cool water.
"Who did it—and why?" spoke Bob suddenly and opening his eyes and sitting up.
He drew up one foot with a wry face. As he did so Dean Ritchie gave a start and a stare.
"Why," he cried, "your stocking is dripping with blood."
"The sole of my foot feels like a raw beefsteak," said Bob.
One of the boys had gone after the shoes that Bob had thrown off a distance from the course.
"Ritchie," he said gravely, "feel there."
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