"Take it away," he muttered. "I'm—drowned."
"Can you walk or will we carry you?" asked Danny in businesslike tones.
"Walk," said Don indignantly. "Let me up." Recollection returned. "Did they make it?" he gasped.
"They did not. Lie still a bit."
"Yes, but——" Don's voice grew faint and he closed his eyes again. The sponge gave a final pat and disappeared. "What—what down was that?" asked Don anxiously.
"Third."
"Then—then they've got another! Help me up, Danny, will you? We've got to stop them, you know. I don't believe they—can do it, do you? We put them back twice, you know."
"Sure you did," said the trainer soothingly. "Here you are, Tim. Take his feet. And you get your arm under his middle, Martin. So! Careful of the shoulder, boys. He's got a fine broken blade in there!"
"Wait!" Don kicked Tim's hands away from his ankles as, raised to a sitting posture by Danny and Martin, his puzzled glance swept the field. "Where's—where's everyone?" he gasped.
"If you mean the team," laughed Tim, "they're beating it for the gym."