Meanwhile some water had been sprinkled in Joe’s face and some forced between his lips. He opened his eyes as the others were washing the blood from his hand.
“I—I’m all right,” he murmured, as he strove to rise.
“Now that’s all right—you just lie still,” commanded Darrell. “Look at it Rod, and see how bad it is.”
Fortunately the wound was not as serious as had at first seemed and when cleansed of dirt and blood it was seen to be a long cut, lengthwise of the finger.
“I’ll have that done up in a jiffy,” remarked Rodney, who was not a little proud of his skill. His father was a physician, and had shown the son how to make simple bandages. The wound was cleansed with an antiseptic solution and wrapped in the long narrow strips of bandage cloth. Joe got to his feet while this was being done, and, after a little water containing aromatic spirits of ammonia had been given to him, he declared that he was all right.
“Are you sure?” asked Darrell anxiously.
“Sure, I’ll bring in a run yet if some one knocks the ball far enough,” said Joe with a smile, though it was rather a feeble one.
“Nonsense, you can’t run after that,” exclaimed Murphy, the Red captain. “Give him a man,” he added generously to his rival. “We don’t care.”