writhing on the ground, where he had been tripped. Two of the Pythian team were already bending over him; a third was running to the side line, calling for Doctor Vincent.
With a sickening fear and remorse Joe Herrick hurried forward to see what he had done.
Rupert's face was white and contracted in his effort to bear the pain in silence. His lips were tightly clinched, and as he turned from side to side, his right leg, stretched out upon the ground, lay motionless. Joe Herrick stood by, afraid to speak, and Rupert, glancing up at him, smiled feebly a moment, and then turned away his head.
Herrick recognized in that smile the same expression with which Rupert had conveyed his contempt for the fellow who would strike a foul blow. Rupert knew. Herrick stood by, heavy-hearted, and had nothing to say.
Doctor Vincent brushed past him and knelt beside the injured boy.
"The ankle," Rupert said, and the doctor unlaced the shoe on the motionless foot.
"Now, then," he said gently, and he began
