“I wonder what’s keeping Dick?” muttered Dave Darrin, half anxiously, in dressing quarters.

“Anyway, we won’t worry about him until we have to,” nodded Mr. Morton.  “Our young captain is about the promptest man, as a rule, in the whole squad.”

“That’s just why I am uneasy,” grunted Dave.

Hardly had he spoken when Dick Prescott came in—–­but limping slightly!

And what a rueful countenance the young captain of the team displayed!

“Suffering Ebenezer, man, but what has happened?” gasped Dave.

All the other Gridley youngsters stopped half way in their togging to listen for the reply.

“Nothing much,” grunted Dick.  “Yet it came near to being too much.  A man bumped me, as I was getting on the car, and drove me against the iron dasher.  It was all an accident, due to the man’s clumsiness.  But it barked my knee a good bit.”

“Let me see you walk about the room,” ordered Coach Morton.  He watched closely, as Dick obeyed.

“Sit down, Prescott, and draw the trousers leg off on that side.  I want to examine the knee.”

While Mr. Morton went to work the other members of the team crowded about, anxiety written on all their faces.

“Does it hurt more when I press?” asked the submaster keenly.  “Ah, I thought so!  Prescott, you’re not badly hurt for anything else; but your knee is in no shape to play this afternoon!”

A wail of dismay went up from the team members.  The rueful look in Dick’s face deepened.

“I was afraid you’d bar me out,” he confessed.  “I never felt so ashamed in my life.”

“It wouldn’t be of any use for you to play, for that knee wouldn’t stand it in any rough smash,” declared the coach, shaking his head solemnly.

“It’s all off with us, then,” groaned one of the fellows.  “We may as well ask Hallam if they’ll allow us to hand ’em a score of six to nothing on a platter, and then stay off the field.”

“Hush your croaking, will you?” demanded Dave Darrin angrily, glaring about him.  “Is that the Gridley way?  Do we ever admit defeat?  Whoever croaks had better quit the team altogether.”

Under that rebuke the boy who had ventured the opinion shrank back abashed.

“You’re sure I’ll be in no shape to go on, Coach?” asked Dick anxiously.

“Why, of course you could go on,” replied Mr. Morton.  “And you could run about some, too, unless your knee got a good deal stiffer.  But you wouldn’t be up to Gridley form.”

“Have I any right to go on, with a knee in this shape?” queried Dick.

“You certainly haven’t,” replied Mr. Morton, with great emphasis.

“Dave,” called the young football chief, “you’re second captain of the team.  Get in and get busy.  Put up the best fight you can for old Gridley!”

“Aye, that I will,” retorted Dave Darrin, his eyes sparkling, cheeks glowing.  “I’ll go in like a pirate chief, and I’ll break the neck of any Gridley man who doesn’t do all there is in him this afternoon.”