“If you don’t know, I can’t explain. Come on, Dan,” he added, turning to the pitcher. “Come on; we’ll run up to the room and take a look at the poor chap.
“We’ll be back by the time the rest of you are on the field. If we aren’t, Samson will bat flies for you.”
Abruptly departing from the dressing-room, Dan and Ned ran to the dormitory and in a brief time entered Walter’s room. They found him standing beside the table and his pale face and general appearance at once betrayed his suffering.
“What’s the trouble, Walter?” inquired Ned. “Are you sick?”
“Awfully,” groaned Walter.
“Had the doctor?” continued Ned.
“I don’t want any doctor.”
“If you’re sick you ought to have one.”
“I’ll be all right in a little while. I’ll get into the game too, before it’s ended!” he added savagely. “You can’t put me out in any such way as this!” The angry boy was looking directly at Dan as he spoke.