“I wouldn’t want him to wait on my account,” said Sam. “If I can’t go with you to-morrow I’ll catch up the next day. Hang the luck, anyway!”
“Never mind,” said Steve soothingly. “You made a peach of a catch, Sam, and we beat ’em!” Just then Mr. Collins and Mr. Williams entered to tell Sam how sorry they were, Mr. Collins expressing the fear that the injury was his fault.
“I’m afraid I went into you pretty hard,” he said. “Awfully sorry. About all I was thinking of was beating out that ball!”
“It wasn’t any fault of yours, sir,” Sam assured him. “Somehow in trying to get the ball on you I gave my leg a twist. I—I’m sorry we couldn’t both win that game.”
“That’s all right. The Chief has promised to take us down to call on you fellows next summer. Then look out for us!”
“We’ll be mighty glad to see you,” said Mr. Gifford. “I’m afraid we can’t treat you as handsomely as you have us, Mr. Collins, but we’ll do our best; even to beating you again, if possible!”
“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Williams laughed. “You chaps certainly played a good game, though, and you deserved to win. Mr. Craig, you’d better stay right here with us until that knee’s all right. We’ll look after you finely.”
“I heard the Chief say that Mr. York had invited Mr. Craig down to his place,” said Mr. Collins. “You’d better go, Mr. Craig. He’s got a mighty comfortable house down there and I guess he’d be able to give you rather a better bed than we can.”
“Why, I—I guess I’d just as lief stay here,” murmured Sam, “if you don’t mind having me. I’m hoping, though, that I’ll be all right to-morrow.”
“Well, if you’re not we’ll be glad to have you stay here as long as you care to. I’ll see that you have some supper sent over. And if there’s anything else you can think of—How about having a doctor look at that knee, Mr. Gifford? There’s one a couple of miles from here and I can get him on the ’phone in a minute.”