"Heard the news, you fellows?" he asked. "Hartland's cricked his leg and won't be able to play."
The boys gazed at one another blankly, hoping against hope that the news was not true.
"There he is," cried one suddenly; and sure enough there he was, leaning on his chum's arm, and hobbling slowly across the playground.
They crowded around him eagerly, asking more questions than could be answered in a week.
"What's the matter, Jim?"
"Can't you play?"
"Are you hurt?"
"Hurt!" cried Dick scornfully. "Of course not! He is doing this just for fun, you silly duffers."
"It isn't much," exclaimed Jim, "and I'll play to-morrow if I can stand. We'll have that shield yet."
"Anyhow," said Dick, with a laugh, "if Jim can't turn out, we have Simpson to fall back on," at which the Deanery boys shook their heads doubtfully. They had no very high opinion of Simpson's powers.