"In a sort of a fall—yes, sir."
"Humph! It was a queer fall that caused that," said the physician. "More like a blow or a kick, I should say. You haven't been trying to ride a horse, have you?"
"No, sir."
"Ha—hum!" ejaculated the doctor, but he asked no more questions, for he had been a college lad in his day and he knew the ethics of such matters. "You can't play ball for a couple of weeks," he went on, "and you'll have to carry that arm in a sling part of the time."
"Can't I pitch on the scrub?" asked Tom in dismay.
"Not unless you want to have an operation later," replied Dr. Marshall grimly.
Tom sighed, but said no more.
Healthy blood in healthy bodies has a marvelous way of recuperating one from injuries, and in a little over a week Tom's arm was so much improved that the doctor allowed him to dispense with the sling. In the middle of the second week Tom started in on light practice at pitching, his place meanwhile on the scrub having been filled by another player.
"Now go slow, young man," advised Dr. Marshall as Tom one day sought and obtained permission to take part in a game against the 'varsity nine. "You're only human, you know, but"—he
