BUT Clearfield paid dearly for that victory. Late Sunday afternoon four dejected youths sat in the library at Guy Felker's house and waited for the report of Skeet Presser, who had just joined them. Skeet, having stuffed his cloth cap into his pocket, seated himself and smiled about him, but the smile was a dispirited effort.
"Did you see him?" asked Guy.
"Yes, I saw him. Just came from there. He's in bad shape, Cap. He's got two cuts just above his left knee as long as my finger and pretty nearly to the bone. Ugly wounds they are, the doctor says. I didn't see them. He's all bandaged up. Anyway, he's out of it, Guy."
There was a moment's silence. Then:
"Can't run at all, you think?"
"Run! Great Cæsar's Ghost, how could any
fellow run with a knee like that? He'll be lucky
290
