“I’m—all—right— Don’t fuss—over—,” said Jeff, after a moment. “Just—give—me—a—drink—of—water.”
The drink was provided and so were restoratives, but the clear, fresh, invigorating air was the best restorative of all, and soon Jeff was able to sit up and grin sheepishly.
At the sight of his smile Wade Grenville set up a wild shout which developed into a cheer that echoed across the whole campus.
“Where’s Spike?” asked Jeff, when the shouts had subsided.
Roy Milliken crowded forward then and shook Jeff’s hand. “Thanks, old fellow,” he said huskily to Jeff. “Spike and I got separated on our way out and I guess he must have thought I was lost and went back to find me. Poor beast got smashed up. A couple of the fellows took him over to the basement of the gym. and made him comfortable. Thanks again, old man; it was a mighty gritty thing to do.”
“Shucks, don’t mention it. I’m going over to the gym. myself and have a plunge.”
“Right-o, go ahead. It will make you feel a heap better. And I’ll get trainer Al Meyers to give you a good alcohol rubdown afterward. Then you’ll be fit to play baseball this afternoon; that is, if there is to be a game.”