Kendall, trotting awkwardly with one arm out of commission, followed the team and substitutes up the hill to the gymnasium. Feeling sadly out of it, he found a seat in a corner and watched the others. The rubbers were busy as soon as the doors had swung shut, and the air was already redolent of arnica and witch hazel. There was a rush of water and a babel of voices. Andy was busy at his store of rubber anklets and bandages. Fales had twisted his knee and Crandall had a cut over one eye that gave him a particularly wicked and disreputable appearance. Payson was talking with Captain Merriwell, the latter stretched at full length on a table with a rubber massaging his back. Payson was frowning intently as he talked. One by one the fellows came over to ask Kendall about his injury. They all seemed really sorry; even Fayette, who had profited by the other’s misfortune, expressed concern in tones that sounded genuine! After awhile the coach[221] began to talk and the room quieted. What he said was not very different from what coaches have said at such times from the beginning of football. He pointed out mistakes and explained how to avoid them. There was no scolding. At the end he said gravely: “The school wants you to win to-day. Just keep that in mind. You’ve been outplayed so far by a team that’s no better than you are; not quite so good, I think. You’re no more handicapped than they are by the wet field and wet ball. There’s no reason why you can’t make a touchdown in each period, fellows. But you’ve got to do better than you have done. You’ve got to play together and put more snap into it. Perhaps you’ve forgotten what Nordham did to you last year. Or perhaps you don’t care. If you don’t care, go on playing as you’ve been playing. If you do care, go back there and show them how to play football!”
On the way back Payson sought Kendall. “I’m sorry you got hurt, Burtis,” he said kindly. “Take care of that wrist, though, and we’ll have you playing next week. Andy says he will have you in shape by then.” He nodded and moved ahead.
“Next week!” muttered Kendall. “That means I don’t get back to-day! I could, though,[222] if it wasn’t for this silly sling around my neck.” He removed his hand and lowered it. It began to hurt as the blood flowed down into it, and Kendall scowled. “Gee, but it’s mean luck! First I went and fumbled the ball and they scored a touchdown, and then I had to bust my wrist and can’t play any more!” He worked his fingers experimentally. They hurt some, but he decided that he could manage to hold a ball with them in spite of the splints if they’d only give him a chance. He looked about for Andy Ryan as they trotted on to the field to the long cheers of the stand. The trainer was busy, and Kendall waited until he was for an instant alone. Then—
“Andy, you said I could go back,” he charged.
“Go back? Do you mean play football?”
Kendall nodded.
“I said that, did I?” Andy grinned. “Was I snoring at the time?”
“You know you weren’t,” answered Kendall indignantly. “And you did say maybe I could——”
“Maybe! Sure I said maybe, Burtis. But what would you be doing out there with one arm in a sling——”
“I don’t need to keep it in a sling, Andy!”
“You don’t, eh? Listen, son. Do you keep your hand where I put it and take care of it.[223] Then maybe you can play next week. If you don’t——”
“Maybe!” gasped Kendall in dismay. “Is—is there any doubt of it?”
“There is,” replied Andy dryly. “All ready, men!”
Kendall, staring blankly before him, turned to find a seat on the bench, and heard his name called. Gerald was leaning across the barrier with an anxious countenance.
“What did you do?” he called. “Break anything?”
“Dislocated,” answered Kendall, tapping the bandaged wrist. He moved nearer to Gerald. “They say I can’t play any more to-day, and—and——”
“Of course you can’t,” agreed Gerald frowningly. “You’ve got to take care of it. Isn’t it mean luck, Kendall?” One might have thought that it was Gerald who had injured himself instead of Kendall. The latter nodded gloomingly, waved his well hand and found a seat between Metz and Jackson. Metz was not very cheerful company these days, since he had but lately been deposed from right end in favor of Adler and was not yet viewing the matter philosophically. Jackson, who was a substitute guard, a big, raw-boned chap with lantern jaws and eyebrows that[224] met companionably above his nose, glanced at Kendall’s injury and asked laconically:
“Broke, Burtis?”
“No, just a dislocation.”
“Too bad ’tain’t broke. They say breaks heal quicker’n dislocations.”
“My, but you’re a cheerful comforter,” muttered Kendall, as he turned to watch the kick-off. Merriwell had elected to give that honor to Nord............