Part 14 (2/2)
”Will it keep me from playing?”
”Yes, for a while, my boy.”
Bandage after bandage was swathed about the shoulder, and the arm was fixed in what Neil conceived to be the most unnatural and awkward position possible.
”How long is this going to lay me up?” he asked anxiously. But the doctor shook his head.
”Can't tell yet. We'll see how you get along.”
”Well, a week?”
”Maybe.”
”Two?”
”Possibly.”
”But--but it can't! It mustn't!” he cried. The door opened and Simson entered. ”Simson,” he called, ”he says this may keep me laid up for two weeks. It won't, will it?”
”I hope not, Fletcher. But you must get it well healed, or else it may go back on you again. Don't worry about--”
”Don't worry! But, great Scott, the Robinson game's only a month off!”
The trainer patted his arm soothingly.
”I know, but we must make the best of it. It's hard lines, but the only thing to do is to take care of yourself and get well as soon as possible. The doc will get you out again as soon as it can be done, but you'll have to be doing your part, Fletcher, and keeping quiet and cheerful--”
”Cheerful!” groaned Neil.
”And getting strong. Now you're fixed and I'll go over to your room with you. How do you feel?”
”All right, I suppose,” replied Neil hopelessly.
Simson walked beside him back to college and across the campus and the common to his room, and saw him installed in an easy-chair with a pillow behind the injured shoulder.
”There you are,” said the trainer. ”Prentiss will look in this evening and I'll see you in the morning. You'd better keep indoors for a few days, you know. I'll have your meals sent over. Don't worry about this, but keep yourself cheerful and--”
Neil leaned his head against the pillow and closed his eyes.
”Oh, go 'way,” he muttered miserably.
When Paul came in half an hour later he found Neil staring motionless out of the window, settled melancholy on his face.
”How bad is it, chum?” asked Paul. He hadn't called Neil ”chum” for over a week--not since their quarrel.
”Bad enough to spoil my chances for the Robinson game,” answered Neil bitterly. Paul gave vent to a low whistle.
”By Jove! I am sorry, old chap. That's beastly, isn't it? What does Prentiss say?”
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