"That's a good sign. I'll get some fresh water."
Paul drank eagerly, and Dick, taking his temperature with the thermometer the physician had left, was glad to note that the little silver column was at ninety-eight and three-fifths, or normal.
"Your fever's gone!" he announced, with a thrill in his tired voice.
Dr. Fenwick came in a little later, and seconded the opinion Dick had formed. Paul was weak, but the danger had passed, he announced.
"It must have been something he ate," was what the doctor said, and Dick thought no more about "dope."
"Will I be able to play Saturday?" asked Paul eagerly.
"Humph! Yes, I think so, if you get back your strength. You lost considerable in a short time. But take it easy at first."
They missed Paul at practice that day, and as Dick was somewhat worn with his sleepless night, the coaches did not insist on very strenuous work. What was done, however, showed that the Kentfield eleven was holding its own.
Paul was out the next day, and did light work. He was a bit "off his feed" as he expressed it, but he was sure he would be all right when it came to the big game.
Little was talked of in the academy but the coming contest, which was to take place on the Kentfield gridiron. Some of the sporting crowd had what they called "big money" up on the game, but few of the football contingent indulged in this practice.