The High School Left End Part 39

In a few moments the young athlete, the upper half of his body bared, stood before the medical examiner. For his height, weight and age Prescott was surely a fine picture of physical strength.

But Dr. Bentley, with the air and the preformed bias of a professional skeptic, went all over the boy's torso, starting with a prolonged examination of the heart action and its sounds.

"You find the arterial pressure steady and sound, don't you,"

asked d.i.c.k Prescott?

"Hm!" muttered Dr. Bentley. "Now, take a full breath and hold it."

Thump! thump! thump! went the doctor's forefinger against the back of his other hand, as he explored all the regions of d.i.c.k's chest.

A dozen more tests followed.

"What do you think, Doctor?" asked Mr. Morton.

"Hm! The young man recovers with great rapidity. If he goes into a mild game he'll stand it all right. If it turns out to be a rough game-----"

"Then I'll fare as badly as the rest, won't I, Doctor?" laughed d.i.c.k. "Thank you for pa.s.sing me, sir. I'll get into my togs at once."

"But I haven't said that I pa.s.sed you."

d.i.c.k, however, feigned not to hear this. He was rushing to his locker, from which he began to haul the various parts of his rig.

"Is it a crime to let young Prescott go on the field?" asked Coach Morton anxiously.

"No," replied Dr. Bentley hesitatingly. "It might be a greater crime to keep him off the gridiron today. Men have been known to die of grief."

Probably a football player never had more a.s.sistance in togging up for a game. Those who couldn't get in close enough to help d.i.c.k dress growled at the others for keeping them out.

"You seem uneasy, Coach," murmured Captain Wadleigh, aside.

"I am."

"I can't believe, sir, that a careful man like Dr. Bentley would let Prescott go on at left end today, if there was good reason why Prescott shouldn't. As we know, from the past, d.i.c.k Prescott has wonderful powers of recuperation."

"If Prescott should go to pieces, Captain, whom will you put forward in his places"

"Dalzell, sir. He's speedy, even if not as clever as Prescott or Drayne."

"I'm glad you've been looking ahead, Captain. Out I hope Prescott will hold out, and suffer no injury whatever from this day's work."

Was d.i.c.k anxious? Not the least in the world. He was care free---jubilant. The Gridley spirit possessed him. He was going to hold out, and the eleven was going to win its game. That was all there was to it, or all there could be.

In the first two or three days after his injury at the fire d.i.c.k had traveled briefly in the dark valley of physical despair.

To be crippled or ill, to be physically useless---the thought filled him with horror.

Then young Prescott had taken a good grip on himself. Out of despair proceeded determination not to allow his lungs to go down before the a.s.sault of smoke and furnace-like air.

Grace Dodge was not, as yet, well on the way to recovery, but d.i.c.k Prescott, with his strong will power, and the grit that came of Gridley athletics, was now togging hastily to play in the great game---though he had not, as yet, returned to school after his disaster.

Out near the grandstand the band crashed forth for the tenth time.

Gridley High School bannerets waved by the hundreds. Yet Filmore, too, had her hosts of boosters here today, and their yells all but drowned out the spirited music.

"Here come our boys! Gridley! Gridley! Gridley! Wow-ow-ow!"

"Hurrah!"

Then the home boosters, who had read Drayne's name on the score card took another look at their cards---next rubbed their eyes.

"Prescott at left end!" yelled one frenzied booster. "Whoop!"

Then the Gridley bannerets waved like a surging sea of color.

The band, finishing its strain, started in again, not waiting for breath.

"Prescott, after all, on left end!"

Home boosters were still cheering wildly by the time that Captain Pike, of Filmore High School, had won the toss and the teams were lining, up.

Silence did not fall until just the instant before the ball was put in play.

Drayne, with his headgear pulled down over his eyes, and skulking out beside the grand stand, soon began to feel a savage satisfaction.

Something must be ailing the left end man after all, for d.i.c.k did not seem able to get through the Filmore line with his usual brilliant tactics.

Instead, after ten minutes of furious play, Filmore forced Gridley to make a safety. Then again the ball was forced down toward Gridley's goal line, and at last pushed over.

Gridley hearts, over on the grand stand and bleacher seats, were beating with painful rapidity. What ailed the home boys? Or were the Filmore youths, as they themselves fondly imagined, the gridiron stars of the school world! Filmore, like Gridley, had a record of no defeats so far this season.

It was a hard pill for Captain Wadleigh and his men to swallow.

In the interval between the halves the local band played, but the former dash was now noticeably absent from its music.

The Gridley colors drooped.

CHAPTER XXIII

SULKER AND REAL MAN

Dave Darrin glanced covertly, though anxiously, at his chum.

Was d.i.c.k really unfit to play? Dave wondered.

It was not that Prescott had actually failed in any quick bit of individual or team play that he had been signaled to perform.

But Darrin wondered if d.i.c.k could really be anything like up to the mark.