“He has certainly made a bad mistake,” said Ray. “I wish I could have advised him in time.”
Little more was to be said. The matter seemed clear enough now, and foolish as Fred Harrison had been, we could only pity him in his present helpless condition.
We reached Belmont about six o’clock, and drove immediately to the dormitory where Fred roomed. One of our number was despatched for a doctor, while others carried the still partially unconscious student up to his room.
The doctor arrived in a few minutes, and made a hasty examination.
“The arm is not broken,” he said. “It is slightly dislocated. Two or three of you hold him tightly a moment.”
We followed his directions at once. Then the doctor planted his foot firmly against the bed, grasped the arm with both hands, bent and twisted it until we thought he would sever it from the body, and then suddenly turned it skilfully back into its proper position.
During the operation Fred had cried incessantly with pain, but when the bone had resumed its place, his muscles relaxed, and his head sank back with a long sigh of relief.
The doctor was now examining his wrist.
“There is a sprain here that will probably give him trouble for two or three weeks,” he said.