And this afternoon his chance came, sooner than he had expected.
The playing had been unusually spirited, and the scrubs had been giving the regulars all they could do to hold their own. At last, however, the first team had got the ball down within ten feet of their opponents’ line, and the ball had been passed to Tom Eldridge for one determined attempt to “get it over.”
The scrubs braced savagely, but Tom came plunging in like a locomotive. There was a wild mix-up as his adversaries piled up on him, and when the mass was untangled, Tom lay on the ground with a badly sprained ankle. He tried to rise, but sank back with a groan.
They lifted him up, and he stood on one foot, with his arms on their shoulders. Professor Raymond, who had the oversight of athletic sports, came hurrying up and examined the injury. All were immensely relieved when they learned that there were no bones broken, but became grave again when the professor said that the sprain was a bad one and would probably lay Tom up for a couple of weeks.
“Just before the Lake Forest game, too!” exclaimed Ned Wayland. “I tell you, it’s tough.”
“We’re goners now!” moaned Slim Haley.
“Not by a jugful,” put in Tom, between whom and Fred the rivalry had been of the most generous kind. “I never saw the day when I could play better football than Fred Rushton. He’ll play the position to the queen’s taste.”
“Nonsense,” said Fred. “You can put it all over me, Tom. I’m awfully sorry you got hurt.”
Professor Raymond insisted that Tom should be carried at once to the school, where he could have his injured ankle attended to properly. The boys cheered the lad as he was taken away, and then Granger turned to Fred.
“You take his place, Fred,” he said, “and show these fellows from Missouri what you can do.”