Miss King said her ankle was badly sprained and the doctor was summoned.
She lay on the infirmary bed, biting her lips and trying to keep back the tears. The doctor had strapped her ankle and told Miss King that she was not to put her foot to the ground for two weeks.
At last Louise’s voice sounded outside the door.
“All right,” she was saying. “I promise to stay only a second.” And in a minute she was at Polly’s side. It was more than the poor child could stand. She burst into tears and hid her face in the pillows.
“Oh, Louise,” she sobbed, “can you ever forgive me? And you told me to be careful!”
“Why, honey child, you couldn’t help it,” comforted Louise. “Here, cheer up, you’ll make yourself sick. Angela’s downstairs tearing her hair out and swearing vengeance on her poor slippers.”
“But the game! Who’ll play in my place?” wailed Polly.
“That is just what I came up to talk to you
about,” Louise told her. “Can you suggest any one? We’re stumped.”
“Wouldn’t Betty do? I know she’d be careful about fouls. Please give her a chance.”