[CHAPTER VIII]
LANGRIDGE AND GERHART PLOT
“Some of you fellows run for Dr. Marshall!” called Mr. Lighton to the throng that gathered about the prostrate lad.
“I’ll go,” volunteered Joe Jackson.
“No, let me,” said his twin brother. “It was my fault. I slipped and fell on him.”
“It wasn’t any fellow’s fault in particular,” declared the captain. “It was likely to happen to any one. But suppose you twins both go, and then we’ll be sure to have help. If Dr. Marshall isn’t in the college, telephone to Haddonfield for one. Phil’s shoulder must be snapped back into place.”
As the twins started off Phil opened his eyes.
“Hurt much, old chap?” asked Tom, holding his chum’s hand.
“No—not—not much,” but Phil gritted his teeth as he said it. His shoulder, with the bunch of padding on it, stood out oddly from the rest of his body.