"I wonder what's keeping Dick?" muttered Dave Darrin, half anxiously, in dressing quarters.
"Anyway, we won't worry about him until we have to," nodded Mr. Morton. "Our young captain is about the promptest man, as a rule, in the whole squad."
"That's just why I am uneasy," grunted Dave.
Hardly had he spoken when Dick Prescott came in—-but limping slightly!
And what a rueful countenance the young captain of the team displayed!
"Suffering Ebenezer, man, but what has happened?" gasped Dave.
All the other Gridley youngsters stopped half way in their togging to listen for the reply.
"Nothing much," grunted Dick. "Yet it came near to being too much. A man bumped me, as I was getting on the car, and drove me against the iron dasher. It was all an accident, due to the man's clumsiness. But it barked my knee a good bit."
"Let me see you walk about the room," ordered Coach Morton. He watched closely, as Dick obeyed.
"Sit down, Prescott, and draw the trousers leg off on that side.
I want to examine the knee."