"I'm in a hurry, so I'll hustle along."
"Wait a jiffy. I've just got here. Sort of went to pieces after landing in this town, and they stowed me in bed, with a pill-slinger looking at my tongue, taking my pulse and asking a lot of tiresome questions. He even sounded my lungs, though I protested against it. And then he told me I was to stay in bed, and left a lot of nasty medicine for me to take. I stayed in bed as long as I could, knowing this game was going on. Now that I'm here, how does it stand?"
"Your great pup-pitcher, Newbert, was batted out in the fifth inning."
"What's that? I don't believe it!"
"It's a fact."
"The score—what's the score?"
"It was four to three in Oakdale's favor at the end of the fifth."
"Rotten!" snarled Herbert, and a tempestuous burst of coughing shook him frightfully.
When Phil started away the still coughing lad grasped his arm and restrained him.
"You—you wait!" gasped Rackliff. "Wyndham must win this game—she just must, that's all. Did you say Grant was hurt?"