Dick Hamilton's Football Team Or A Young Millionaire On The Gridiron Part 30

"I do also," agreed Mr. Martin, and Mr. Spencer was no less positive.

It was three days before the game, and the boys were "on edge" and fit to make the battle of their lives. That night d.i.c.k was paying a visit in the rooms of Innis Beeby, when George Hall came in.

"What's the matter up in your bungalow?" asked Jim Watkins, coming in during a deep discussion of a new wing shift play.

"Nothing--why?" asked d.i.c.k quickly.

"I thought you might be sick. I just saw Dr. Fenwick going in there,"

was the answer. "But you seem healthy enough."

"Dr. Fenwick--going to our room!" cried d.i.c.k, starting up. "It must be Paul. He wasn't feeling well this evening, and wouldn't come out with me. I'll go see!" and he hastened away.

CHAPTER XXII

THE BLUE HILL GAME

The thoughts of the young captain were rather alarming as he made his way to the apartment he shared with his chum. He had paid little attention to the complaint Paul made of not feeling well, thinking it was only a temporary indisposition. That had been several hours before, for time had pa.s.sed quickly in the room of Innis, with the spirited talk of football.

"And he had to send for a doctor when I wasn't there with him!"

exclaimed d.i.c.k to himself regretfully. "That was tough. But I kept thinking he'd join us every minute or I'd gone back. I hope it isn't anything serious."

Then he recalled several stories he had read of football players being secretly "doped" before big games in order that they would go "stale"

and not be in form.

"That may have happened to Paul!" half-gasped the young captain. "Some of those Blue Hill fellows, fearing we will beat them, may have sent him some dope. If they have----"

Then d.i.c.k laughed at his preposterous fears, and by this time he was at his room. Behind the closed door he heard the murmur of voices. One he recognized as that of his chum, and the other was Dr. Fenwick's.

"Well, he's alive at any rate," thought the young millionaire. "He can't be so bad."

Nevertheless it was rather an alarmed countenance of d.i.c.k Hamilton that gazed in on his chum a moment later. Paul was in bed, and in the room was one of the academy orderlies, while the physician was bending over a table, mixing some medicine in a gla.s.s.

"Paul!" cried d.i.c.k impulsively. "What's the matter? Jim Watkins just told me Dr. Fenwick was here. How did it happen? What is the matter? I'm so sorry I left you alone, but I thought every minute that you'd be over. I'm all cut up about it."

"It's all right, d.i.c.k, old man," replied Paul, but in fainter tones than he was in the habit of using. "I'm just a little under the weather I guess. I'll be on the active list again soon."

"I hope so," murmured the captain, with the memory of the impending Blue Hill game. Paul was one of his best players--one who could always be depended on in an emergency--one who always had some "go" left in him, when it seemed that mortal flesh and bone could do no more. He could tear through the line, and break up interference better than any guard d.i.c.k had ever seen, and for nailing the man with the ball Paul was a star. No wonder the young captain did not want to lose him.

"Is it anything serious, Doctor?" asked d.i.c.k.

"I hope not," replied Dr. Fenwick. "I don't like some of his symptoms, but they may pa.s.s away."

"How did it happen--how did it come on?" inquired the young millionaire.

"Oh, I hadn't felt well all day," replied the plucky left guard, "but I didn't think anything of it. Then a little while ago I suddenly felt dizzy, and before I knew what was happening I keeled over--fell on the floor. Brooks, in the next room, heard me, and came rushing in. He got the doctor--that's all I know."

"And I wasn't here?" exclaimed d.i.c.k reproachfully.

"I fancy it is only due to an upset condition of the stomach," put in the physician. "He has an attack of vertigo, which is not uncommon.

There, Mr. Drew, I'll leave this medicine, and look in on you in the morning. If you need me in the night don't hesitate to send for me."

"I'll look after him," promised d.i.c.k. The physician and orderly were about to leave when several of the cadets who had been in Beeby's room, and who wondered at d.i.c.k's sudden desertion, came trooping in, to ask all sorts of questions concerning Paul.

"Now, young gentlemen, this won't do!" insisted the doctor cheerfully but firmly. "Mr. Drew must be kept quiet. He is in no danger, and you'll have to leave."

They did, after nodding pleasantly to the sick lad, and then d.i.c.k began a vigil of the night.

"Jove! I hope Drew doesn't go back on us in the Blue Hill game,"

remarked Dutton.

"It would sort of break us up, even though Berkfeld fills in pretty well at guard," spoke George Hall.

As for the worriment of the young captain, only he himself realized the depth of it.

Paul was restless all night, and had a slight fever. d.i.c.k was a faithful nurse, administering the medicine regularly. Once his patient was delirious, and murmured something about matters at home. Again he fancied himself on the gridiron, and called out:

"Touchdown! Touchdown! We've got to make a touchdown! That's it. Go through the line now!"

"Poor Paul," murmured d.i.c.k. "I'm afraid it will be quite a while before you play again."

Twice, when the lad's condition seemed worse, d.i.c.k was on the point of sending for Dr. Fenwick, but he refrained and the spell pa.s.sed over.

Morning came, pale and wan, shining in the room where the electric lights burned with a sickly glow. d.i.c.k turned them out and softly laid his hands on Paul's cheek.

"He seems cooler," he whispered. "I believe the fever has gone down. I hope it has. He's sleeping soundly. I--I believe I'll lie down for a moment."

d.i.c.k himself felt weak, for he had been up nearly all night, and the day before he had practiced strenuously. He stretched out on the lounge, and before he knew it he was sleeping soundly. He awakened as a voice called faintly:

"Is there any water handy, d.i.c.k?"

"Paul! How are you?" he cried, springing up. "Oh, I must have dozed off!

That was careless of me. Are you all right? I'm a swell nurse, I am."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm much better, and I'm hungry and thirsty."

"That's a good sign. I'll get some fresh water."

Paul drank eagerly, and d.i.c.k, taking his temperature with the thermometer the physician had left, was glad to note that the little silver column was at ninety-eight and three-fifths, or normal.

"Your fever's gone!" he announced, with a thrill in his tired voice.

Dr. Fenwick came in a little later, and seconded the opinion d.i.c.k had formed. Paul was weak, but the danger had pa.s.sed, he announced.

"It must have been something he ate," was what the doctor said, and d.i.c.k thought no more about "dope."