CHAPTER XX

“WE NEED EVERY POINT”

“Say, old man, I’m mighty sorry about that!” cried the lad who had caused the mischief, as he put his arm about Frank. “I wouldn’t have done it for the world--I slipped. Are you badly hurt?”

It needed but a glance at Frank’s shoe, whence came a few drops of blood, to show that he was painfully hurt, if not seriously crippled.

“The spikes have gone clear through!” gasped Sid.

“No, it’s not as bad as that,” said Frank. “Get my shoe off, fellows, and----”

A spasm of pain prevented him from finishing the sentence and he sat down on the ground. Tom had the shoe off quickly.

It was seen that two of the spikes on Shambler’s sole had gone through the outer, fleshy part of Frank’s foot. There was a little bleeding, but it soon stopped.

“That’s got to be looked at at once!” decided Holly Cross when he saw it. “You’re likely to go lame, old man.”

“Jove! That’s bad,” murmured Phil, and several black looks were cast at Shambler, for all the lads knew how much depended on Frank in the broad jumping contest.

“Oh, I guess I’ll be all right,” spoke the injured lad, whose pain was abated somewhat with the removal of the shoe, for his foot had begun to swell. “It’s all right, Shambler. I know you didn’t mean to do it. I’ll be in shape for the meet all right.”

“I hope so, old man,” spoke the new lad sincerely, and his former joyous spirits seemed to have slipped from him like a garment. Tom felt himself disliking Shambler with a feeling that was akin to hate, and he had to fight hard to keep control of his temper. As it was he murmured under his breath:

“The cad! I wish he’d never come to Randall!”

“Come on, boys, we’ll have to give Frank a hand up,” suggested Holly. “Help him to his room, and we’ll get the Doc to look at him.”

Willing hands assisted Frank along, so that he did not have to bear any weight on his injured foot. Shambler wanted to help, but Tom, Sid and Phil insisted on giving “first aid,” and they were sufficient.

The physician looked grave when he saw the injury, not so much at the nature of the hurt itself, for it was comparatively slight, but he was concerned for what might develop.

“I don’t see how you’re going to do any jumping for the next month,” said the physician, when told that Frank was expected to hold up Randall’s end of the big events.

“Oh, but I’ve got to!” declared the Big Californian. “To paraphrase the old saying, ‘Randall expects every lad to do his duty.’ I’ve got to jump.”

“Then I have to tell you that if you do, you may lame yourself for the rest of your life,” went on the doctor seriously. “Some of the tendons are cut, and unless they heal properly you are liable to tear them loose if you put too much strain on them. You’ve got to be careful.”

Frank groaned, and his chums looked anxious. Holly Cross and Kindlings, who were at the conference, shook their heads.

“We’ll just have to make other arrangements then,” said Holly, as he walked out with his companion manager. “If Frank can’t jump he may be able to help out in the hammer, or weight-throwing contests.”

“We’ll try that, as soon as he’s able to be up,” decided Kindlings. “This is bad business. I’ll give Shambler a call down. He’s too fresh.”

“No, I wouldn’t say anything,” said Holly. “He feels badly enough as it is, and we don’t want any more disruption among the fellows than possible. We aren’t going to have any walkover in these games.”

“I guess you’re right. Well, we’ll do our best, but I wish this hadn’t happened.”

Frank’s foot was very painful the next day, and much swollen, but the doctor said there was no special cause for alarm, as it had been treated with antiseptics.

But the Big Californian had to keep in bed, and this was irksome to him, as he was naturally active. Phil, Tom and Sid did all they could to make his imprisonment cheerful, and Shambler called several times, to express over and over again his regret at his carelessness. The others took rather a liking to him, but Tom could not bring himself to be friendly. He was sure Shambler had some secret that he was afraid would be discovered.

Tom had not seen Madge Tyler since the memorable day of the May walk, but from his chums, who paid several visits to the co-educational institution, the pitcher learned that Madge had not been out with Shambler since.

“I believe she did it just to spite me, because of that little incident with Miss Benson,” reasoned Tom.

A week after the accident Frank was able to step on his foot, but the doctor strictly forbade any violent exercise. However he did not prohibit practice at weight throwing, and Frank soon proved himself an expert at this, almost equaling Dutch, so that Holly and Kindlings made a temporary shift in their list of entrants.

“But I’ll be in the jump all right,” asserted Frank, and rather to the surprise of the doctor the injured foot healed so well and rapidly that there was a prospect, after all, that the Big Californian could take the place originally assigned to him.

“I hope he can,” said Holly. “For we need him, and Sid Henderson, while he’s good, isn’t quite up to Frank’s mark.”

Sid knew this himself, but he was, by constant work, gradually improving. Meanwhile hard practice went on among the various track squads.

The grounds at Tonoka Park were being put in shape for the big quadruple meet, and there was every prospect of success. The various committees held frequent meetings, and it was said that many tickets were being disposed of, so that there was a prospect of well-filled treasuries.

Many of the lads against whom Tom and his chums had played football or baseball were to uphold the colors of Boxer Hall and Fairview. As regarded Exter little was known, though it was rumored that a number of well-known amateurs were enrolled under her banner.

“Exter is the only one we haven’t a good line on,” said Holly Cross one afternoon, as he called at the room of the inseparables to inquire about Frank, who was almost himself again.

“Why, you don’t have any fear about her fellows; do you?” asked Tom, taking the call as an excuse to stop studying.

“Yes, I do, in a way. I tell you, boys, Randall will need every point she can pile up. You know how we score, with a thousand points as the maximum for the best in each class of events. Seconds and fractions of inches count, so don’t forget that, and go for every last ounce of strength or wind that you have. A point in any event may make or break us.”

“Will it be as close as that?” asked Sid.

“Indeed it will. Every man of Randall will have to be strictly on the job, as I’ve said before. This isn’t a football match, where, if you don’t make a touchdown one quarter, you may the next.” Holly spoke seriously.

“Oh, well, we’ll be there with the goods,” declared Phil.

“I’m sure I hope so,” spoke the young trainer, as he took his leave, warning Frank to take care of himself, and get in the best possible condition.

“Do you really think you’ll jump?” asked Holly.

“Sure I will. I saw the doctor, and while he said I must be careful, still, he didn’t absolutely forbid me as he did at first. I’ll do my best.”

“Yes, we know that,” declared Tom clapping his big chum on the shoulder.

There followed a period of silence in the room, after Holly had left. The four tried to study, but their thoughts were plainly more on the coming games than on their books. Finally Tom, tossing aside his Latin book, gave a big yawn and said:

“I’m going for a row. It’s too nice to stay in, and there isn’t any practice ordered for this afternoon. Who’s coming out on the river with me?”

“Not I,” spoke Sid. “I can’t spare the time.”

“Oh come on, you old misanthrope,” urged the pitcher.

“Nope. Take Frank, he needs the air.”

“Then you come too, Phil.”

“No, I’m back in my work, and I’ve just got to make it up, or I’ll be conditioned, and you know what that means. You and Frank are the brainy pair; you go.”

“Will you?” asked Tom; and Frank consented.