“He’s hurt!” was the cry.
A doctor was present, and he hurried to the side of the motionless athlete. As he bent down, Merriwell was seen to stir and partly sit up, but he fell back with a groan. Then the doctor made a hasty examination, while players and spectators breathlessly awaited what he had to say.
“What is it, doctor?” asked Birch. “How much is he hurt?”
“He has a broken rib!” answered the doctor.
“That ends him so far as football is concerned this year!” muttered Buck Badger.
Frank Merriwell had a broken rib! Imagine how the news traveled and the excitement it created. He was carried to the hospital.
And the regulars scored thirty-six points against the scrub in the second half of the same practise game.
“That shows who was backbone of the scrub,” said Pink Pooler bitterly. “Poor old Merry!”
The anger of Frank’s friends was fierce and terrible. They denounced Lorrimer and the entire management of the eleven. Some of them went to extremes in their fury over the matter. Bart Hodge was outspoken, and he did not fear any one. There was excitement at the fence that evening, and Hodge was in the midst of it.
“Merriwell has been sacrified on the altar of human cussedness!” Hodge declared. “He is the best man who ever wore a Yale uniform! By kicking him off the eleven, Yale has thrown away her last chance for beating Harvard.”