[CHAPTER XV]
FLEMING TURNS UP AGAIN
“What’s the matter, Hughson?” McRae cried.
“The old arm won’t work,” replied the pitcher. “Guess I hurt it in the same old place when I fell.”
His fellow players crowded around him, and the umpire, who had called time, came up to ascertain the damage.
The club doctor also ran out from his seat in the stands near the press box and made a hurried examination.
“You’ve strained those ligaments again,” he remarked, “and as far as I can tell now one of them is broken. I told you that they weren’t healed enough for you to pitch.”
McRae groaned in sympathy with Hughson and in dismay for himself and his team. He had been congratulating himself that with Hughson in the fine form he had showed that afternoon the world’s pennant was as good as won.
“It’s too bad, old man,” he said to Hughson. “You never pitched better. You were just burning them over.”
“I’m fearfully sorry,” Hughson answered. “I did want to be in the thick of the fight with the rest of the boys. But I guess all I can do from now on is to root for them.”