Holly Cross was bending over him, while the other Randallites crowded up, and the Wescott lads stretched out on the field. A doctor ran in from the side lines on a signal from the coach. He felt of Phil’s pulse.
“Why, the chap has a high fever!” he exclaimed. “He has collapsed from it. He can’t play any more! Take him off the field!”
A groan went up from the Randall players.
[CHAPTER XXVI]
SID IS BOGGED
Phil Clinton opened his eyes. His face, that had been pale, was now flushed. The reaction had set in, and he tried to struggle to his feet.
“Signal!” he cried. “Eighteen A B X—two twenty-seven Z M!”
He tried to get in position to take the ball from Snail Looper, who was standing up, regarding him curiously.