“Not at all, Mac,” returned Joe. “My lungs feel all right, so I know I didn’t inhale any of the flame. And I kept my eyes shut at the worst places. The only hurts I’ve got are a few superficial burns here and there that don’t amount to anything. I’ll be right as a trivet in a day or two.”
“But your arm, your pitching arm?” persisted McRae. “Was that burned at all?”
“Scorched a bit,” replied Joe. “But a doctor down there dressed it. He’s coming around to take another look at it later on.”
“We won’t wait for him,” declared McRae. “Dougherty,” he said, addressing the trainer of the club, who had joined the group, “come right up with Joe to his room and look at that arm. I’d rather have your judgment of it than that of any doctor round here.”
Joe and Jim, together with McRae, Robbie and Dougherty, repaired at once to Joe’s room where the latter was at once subjected to the most careful examination.
“Absolutely all right except the arm,” pronounced Dougherty at last.
“Except the arm!” McRae fairly shouted. “Why, man, that’s everything!”
“I don’t mean that there’s anything serious with that either,” explained the trainer. “I only mean that I’m sure the other burns don’t amount to anything, while I’m not so sure about the arm. It depends on how deep the burn went. Probably it didn’t go deep enough to affect or twist any of the muscles. But we’ll have to wait a little while until the inflammation subsides before we can be absolutely certain.”
He made Joe flex the muscles, which the latter did with so little appearance of pain or flinching that McRae was partially reassured. Then the doctor, who had come in, dressed the arm with exceeding care and went away and the anxious party adjourned to the dining room.