“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if you were right,” purred Sidney Gooch.
“I am not going to give up that Hardy can’t play at all till I hear it from his lips,” said Parker.
“You may as well give it up,” declared a voice, and Bart Hodge joined the group. “It is straight goods, fellows. I’ve just had a talk with Capt. Hardy.”
They turned eagerly to the dark-faced, proud-looking lad, and plied him with questions. All he could tell them was substantially the same as they had learned from Gamp. Capt. Hardy had been examined by competent physicians, and he had been ordered to drop baseball and refrain from all kinds of violent exertion.
“It’s a shame!” groaned Jones. “Just at this time Yale can’t afford to lose a single good man.”
“Don’t you worry a bit,” said Hodge. “If Merriwell is made captain of the team, Yale will not lose anything. I know Phil Hardy is a dandy, but Frank Merriwell is another.”
Somebody laughed scornfully and shortly.
Hodge looked round quickly, his face flushing crimson.
“Laugh!” he exclaimed. “I know what I am talking about! I have traveled with Frank Merriwell, and he is all right.”
“From his head up,” said a voice.