CHAPTER XXVI

SID IS BOGGED

Phil Clinton opened his eyes. His face, that had been pale, was now flushed. The reaction had set in, and he tried to struggle to his feet.

"Signal!" he cried. "Eighteen A B X--two twenty-seven Z M!"

He tried to get in position to take the ball from Snail Looper, who was standing up, regarding him curiously.

"What's the matter?" cried Phil. "Why don't you get down to snap it back, Snail? Isn't it our ball? Have we lost it on a fumble? Are they beating us?"

"You--you can't play," spoke Holly Cross brokenly.

"Can't play! Nonsense! Of course I can play! I'm all right! I was just knocked out for a minute. Get down there, Snail. Signal----" But Phil fell back into the arms of Tom and the doctor, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

"Carry him off the field," said the medical man softly. "He's got lots of grit, but a horse couldn't play with the fever he has."

Sorrowfully they carried the stricken quarter-back from the gridiron. It was a hard blow to the Randall team, for it meant that a new man would have to go in and play what was probably the most exacting position on the team.

"Jerry Jackson, go to quarter," called Holly Cross. "I'll put Hayden at left half-back," and the substitute was summoned from the side lines. The play went on, but, as might have been expected, Randall was at a disadvantage. When they had the ball they managed to gain considerable ground, and as much punting as possible was done. But Wescott tore through for another touch-down, while the solitary one gained in the first half was the limit of the scoring the visitors could do. There did come a brace on the part of Randall toward the close of the game, and when the whistle blew they had the ball on the ten-yard line of their opponents. They had put up a plucky fight against big odds, and the Wescott players realized it, for they cheered lustily for their enemies. There was lack of heartiness, not alone from the sense of defeat, in the cheer and college yell with which Randall responded. Then they filed sorrowfully off the field, while Tom, Holly Cross and the coach, as soon as possible, went to the hotel where Phil had been taken in an automobile.

They imagined all sorts of things, and were not a little relieved when the doctor told them that, at worst, Phil only had a bad attack of bilious fever. The change of diet, necessitated by the trip, had brought it on. With rest and quiet he would be all right in a week, the medical man said.

"And when can he play football?" asked Holly Cross anxiously.

"Not for two weeks," was the reply, and the coach and captain groaned. They had a game with Fairview in prospect, and must needs win it if they were to have a chance for the championship.

"I wonder if we can't postpone it?" asked Holly dubiously.

"Impossible," answered the coach. "We'll have to play Jackson at quarter. I'll take him in hand at once. We only have a week, but in that time the Jersey twin will do better than Moseby, who's been playing quarter on the scrub. It's the best we can do."

Phil was too sick to accompany the team home, and Tom volunteered to stay with him for a couple of days, the coach and captain agreeing to explain matters at college. So the despondent players returned to Haddonfield, while Tom remained with Phil at the hotel. Three days later, thanks to the skill of the doctor, Phil was able to travel, though he was quite weak. He was broken-hearted at the way he had collapsed in the critical part of the game, but Tom would not listen to any of his chum's self-reproaches.

"I'll make up for it when we play Fairview!" declared Phil. He was in a bad state when told that he could not play that game, but there was no help for it.

Ruth called to see her brother, accompanied by Madge Tyler. He was sitting in the dilapidated easy chair when the girls came in, and apologized for it.

"Oh, we're glad to see you even in that state, Phil, as long as it's no worse, aren't we, Madge?" spoke Ruth.

"Of course," answered Madge brightly. "I wish you were better, so you could play Saturday against our college."

"We'd be sure to win, if he did," interposed Tom. "As it is, your fellows have a better chance."

"I--I don't care if we do lose!" exclaimed Madge, and she blushed prettily. "That is----" and she paused in some confusion.

"Why, Madge Tyler!" exclaimed Ruth. "That's treason!"

"I don't care," was the answer, with a toss of the head. "Don't you want your brother to get well?"

"Of course, but----"

"Well," was all Madge said, and Tom wondered what she meant.

But Randall did not lose to Fairview in the second game. It was a hard one, but the Jersey twin did good work at quarter, and Hayden proved a "star" end, making a brilliant run and a touch-down. The score was seventeen to five, a solitary field goal being all that Fairview was able to accomplish.

"Well, now we'll have a chance at the championship, when we meet Boxer Hall next," said Phil, who had watched the contest from the grandstand, though he was as nervous as a colt all the while.

The 'varsity quarter-back was allowed to begin practice the following week, and was soon playing with his old-time form. In fact, the little rest seemed to have benefited him, and this, added to the fact that encouraging news had been received concerning his mother, made him less apprehensive when he was on the gridiron. There were two more rather unimportant games in prospect before the final contest with Boxer Hall, and all the energies of the Randall eleven were now turned to the deciding contest.

"I say, you fellows," remarked Sid one sunny November afternoon, when all three chums were in the room after lectures, "don't you want to take a walk with me? I've got to do some observation work in my biology course, and I'm going to take my camera along and make some pictures."

"Where you going?" asked Tom.

"Oh, along the river. Then I'll strike across country, and fetch up somewhere. We'll not be gone over three hours, and we'll get back by dark. Come along; it will do you good."

"Shall we go with the old gazabo, Phil?" asked Tom.

"If he guarantees not to get us lost in the woods, so we'll have to stay out all night," replied the quarter-back.

"Oh, I'll get you home safe," declared Sid. "We'll have a nice walk. I'll be ready in a jiffy," and he proceeded to load his camera with films. It was a large one, and he often used it to make pictures which had a bearing on his class work in biology and evolution. The three chums were soon strolling along the banks of the river, Sid on the lookout for late-staying birds or some animal or reptile which he might add to his photographic collection.

"You must be fond of this sort of thing, to lug that heavy camera around with you," commented Phil.

"I am," said Sid. "It's very interesting to study the habits of birds and animals. You'd ought to have taken that course."

"I wish I had, instead of mathematics," put in Tom. "I'm dead sick of them, but I guess I'll have to stick at 'em."

For a mile or more Sid saw nothing on which to focus his camera. He suggested that they leave the vicinity of the river and strike across country, and, as his chums left the matter entirely to him, this plan was followed. Suddenly, as they were going through a clump of trees about a mile from the stream, Sid uttered an exclamation.

"Hold on, fellows!" he cried. "I can get a beautiful snapshot here," and he motioned them to stand still, while he got his automatic hand camera into position.

"What is it?" whispered Phil.

"A _vulpes pennsylvanicus argentatus_!" answered Sid as he turned the focusing screw.

"What's that, for the love of Mike?" spoke Tom.

"Blessed if I know," retorted Phil. "I don't see anything. Maybe it's a snake."

"It's a fox, you chumps!" came from Sid. "Keep still, can't you? I've got him just right. He can't see me, and the wind is blowing from him to me. I'll have his picture in a minute!"

But, as bad luck would have it, just as Sid was about to press the lever, releasing the shutter, Phil leaned too heavily on one foot. A stick broke under him with a snap, there was a sudden rustling in the bushes, and Sid uttered a cry of dismay.

"There he goes!" cried the naturalist. "What's the matter with you fellows, anyhow? Can't you keep still? Now it will take me an hour to trail him, and the chances are I can't do it."

"It wasn't my fault," explained Tom. "Phil did it."

"I couldn't help it," came from the guilty one. "What do you want to photograph such scary things as foxes for, anyhow?"

"Humph!" was Sid's exclamation. "Well, there's no help for it. Come on."

"Where?" inquired Tom.

"After the fox, of course," and Sid started resolutely forward. Tom and Phil followed for a short distance, then Phil called out:

"Say, it's getting swampy here."

"What of it?" asked Sid, whose enthusiasm would not let him notice such small matters.

"Lots of it," came from Tom. "We're getting our feet wet."

"Ah, don't be babies!" retorted Sid, plunging into a deep, muddy hole. "Come on."

"I'm going to find a dryer path," said Phil, and Tom agreed with him. They turned aside, but Sid kept on. Soon he was lost to sight in the woods. Phil and Tom looked in vain for a better route, and, finding none, decided to turn back.

"We'll wait for you out on the main road," Phil called to his unseen chum. An indistinguishable answer came back. The two picked their way to higher ground, and edged off toward the road which skirted the woods.

"Photographing in a swamp is too rich for my blood," commented Phil.

"Same here," agreed Tom. "But Sid doesn't seem to mind it. Smoked mackerel, look at my shoes!" and he glanced at his muddy feet.

"I'm in as bad," added Phil. "Let's walk through the grass and----"

Just then they heard Sid calling from afar.

"What's he saying?" asked Tom.

"Listen," advised Phil.

Again the cry was heard.

"Sounds as if he was calling for us to come to him," ventured Tom.

"That's it, but I'm not going. I'm just as well satisfied to look at the photograph after he's developed it. I'm going to stay here," came from Phil.

"Sure," added Tom.

The cries continued, and then ceased. Tom and Phil waited nearly an hour for Sid to reappear, and when he did not come they started back for college, thinking he had gone another way. But poor Sid was in dire straits, as we shall soon see.