wn with two yards to gain. To lose the ball by
kicking was the last thing to be thought of, and so, despite the fact
that hitherto well-nigh every attempt at end running had met with
failure, Foster gave the ball to Neil for a try around the Erstham left
end. It was a forlorn hope, and unfortunately Erstham was looking for
it. Neil found his outlet blocked by his own interference, and was
forced to run far out into the field. The play was a failure from the
first. Erstham's big right half and an equally big line man tackled Neil
simultaneously for a loss and threw him heavily.

When they got off him Neil tried to arise, but, with a groan, subsided
again on the turf. The whistle blew and Simson ran on. Neil was
evidently suffering a good deal of pain, for his face was ashen and he
rolled his head from side to side with eyes half closed. His right arm
lay outstretched and without movement, and in an instant the trouble was
found. Simson examined the injury quickly and called for the doctor, who
probed Neil's shoulder with knowing fingers, while the latter's white
face was being sopped with the dripping sponge.

"Right shoulder's dislocated, Jim," said Dr. Prentiss quietly to the
trainer. "Take hold here; put your hands here, and pull toward you
steadily. Now!"

Then Neil fainted.

When he regained consciousness he was being borne from the field between
four of his fellows. At the locker-house the injured shoulder was laid
bare, and the doctor went to work.

The pain had subsided, and only a queer soreness remained. Neil watched
operations with interest, his face fast regaining its color.

"Nothing much, is it?" he asked.

"Not a great deal. You've smashed your shoulder-blade a bit, and maybe
torn a ligament. I'll fix you up in a minute."

"Will it keep me from playing?"

"Yes, for a while, my boy."

Bandage after bandage was swathed about the shoulder, and the arm was
fixed in what Neil conceived to be the most unnatural and awkward
position possible.

"How long is this going to lay me up?" he asked anxiously. But the
doctor shook his head.

"Can't tell yet. We'll see how you get along."

"Well, a week?"

"Maybe."

"Two?"

"Possibly."

"But--but it can't! It mustn't!" he cried. The door opened and Simson
entered. "Simson," he called, "he says this may keep me laid up for two
weeks. It won't, will it?"

"I hope not, Fletcher. But you must get it well healed, or else it may
go back on you again. Do