"I'll let you know later, Bob," Stonewell said quietly, and Robert knew he didn't care to talk before Blunt. "Come along, fellows."
They started off at a brisk pace; near sick quarters, Stonewell said: "I'm going to drop in to see Farnum; an operation was performed on him Saturday afternoon, and Dr. Pickron said I might see him to-day. He is getting along finely."
"That's splendid news," exclaimed Robert; "just tell him how sorry we all are that he has been sick."
"May I see Mr. Farnum for a few minutes?" asked Stonewell of Dr. Pickron, in sick quarters.
"Yes, top floor back on the right. Don't stay too long with him."
"Thank you, doctor, I'll only be with him a moment."
Stonewell found Farnum lying in bed with his head bandaged. "Hello, Stone," cried the latter happily, as Stonewell came in, in a different tone of voice than Farnum had had for some weeks. "By George, Stone, I'm feeling a lot better; I've got rid of that miserable feeling I had for such a long time. Dr. Pickron is all right; he cut my head open and I'm going to be well and out in ten days or two weeks. I knew there was something wrong with me, but Dr. Pickron has fixed it all right. I'd been in bad shape ever since that Bucknell game."
"I'm delighted, old fellow," replied Stonewell enthusiastically; "that was a hard bump you got that day, but you're looking ever so much better. Everybody will be awfully glad to hear you are getting along so nicely; the squad, particularly."
"I'm afraid I'll play no more football this year."