CHAPTER XXIV.
AFTER THE BATTLE "You'll not get off so easily this time," said the doctor.
"No, sir," replied Neil, striving to look concerned.
He was back on the couch again, just where he had been four weeks previous, with his shoulder swathed about in bandages just as it had been then.
"I can't see what you were thinking about," went on the other irritably, "to go on playing after you'd bust things up again." "No, sir--that is, I'm sure I don't know." Neil's tone was very meek, but the doctor nevertheless looked at him suspiciously.
"Humph! Much you care, I guess.

But, just the same, my fine fellow, it'll be Christmas before you have the use of that arm again.

That'll give you time to see what an idiot you were." "Thank you, sir." The doctor smiled in spite of himself and looked away.
[Illustration: Erskine vs.

Robinson--The Second Half.] "Doesn't seem to have interfered with your appetite, anyhow," he said, glancing at the well-nigh empty tray on the chair.
"No, sir; I--I tried not to eat much, but I was terribly hungry, Doc." "Oh, I guess you'll do." He picked up his hat; then he faced the couch again and its occupant.

"The trouble with you chaps," he said severely, "is that as long as you've managed to get a silly old leather wind-bag over a fool streak of lime you think it doesn't matter how much you've broke yourselves to pieces." "Yes, it's very thoughtless of us," murmured Neil with deep contriteness.
"Humph!" growled the doctor.