"I want to speak to your mother, so she won't be scared to death." Mrs.Prescott, from whom Dick had inherited much of his own pluck, was not the kind of woman to faint.

She quickly followed Dr.
Bentley from the store.
"I'm hurt only in my feelings, mother," said Dick cheerfully.
"I'm afraid I have a little wrench that will keep me out of the game tomorrow." "That's almost a tragedy, I know," replied Mrs.Prescott bravely.
The physician directing, the boy was lifted from the car, while Mrs.Prescott went ahead to open the door.
Dave Darrin followed, his eyes flashing.

Dave had his own theory to account for this state of affairs.
Into his own room Dick was carried, and laid on the bed.

Mrs.
Prescott remained outside while Dave helped undress his chum.
"Now, let us see just how bad this is," mused the physician aloud.
"It isn't so very bad," smiled Dick.

"I wouldn't mind at all, if it weren't for the game to-morrow.