kened
streets in search of a night prowling cabman or taxi-cab, keeping a
sharp lookout for policemen, fearing they might be arrested because of
their battered condition.

"We've got to get to somewhere we can be patched up and get some
sleep," he repeated, urging Kennedy, whose sufferings made their
progress slow. "We've got to keep those crooks from finding out where
we are. Let them think they've finished us and then show up in time to
play."

"I don't think I can play, Silent," moaned Kennedy. "I can't drag
myself much farther."

He was making a brave effort to keep on, and for another block Swanson
half supported him. Then he gave up and sat down upon the curbing.

"Sit here," said Swanson quickly. "There is an all-night drug store a
couple of blocks down; I'll find a cab there."

He limped away as rapidly as possible, and, almost before Kennedy
realized it, he returned in a taxicab.

"Caught him just starting home," explained Swanson, as he half lifted
Kennedy into the tonneau. "He says there is a hospital less than a
mile from here where we can get treatment."

The bruised and battered players groaned and swore under their breath,
while the cab made a rapid trip to the hospital, and half an hour later
they were resting easily in a private room, their wounds were being
washed and dressed and a young doctor was working hard to relieve their
sufferings.

"We've got to play ball this afternoon, Doc," said Swanson, watching
the surgeon cut and wash the hair from the wound on his scalp. "Fix us
up right."

"You'll not play ball this week," said the surgeon cheerfully. "Your
friend over there will be all right in a couple of days. He's badly
bruised and his hand is sprained, but not seriously. He's sorer than
you are, but by morning you'll be a cripple."

"But, Doc, we've got to play," pleaded Swanson. "You've got to fix us
up."

"I'll do all I can," remarked the surgeon. "But your right arm is
badly wrenched and bruised. The cuts won't hurt, but one of your eyes
will be out of commission for three or four days. Whose mule kicked
you?"

Swanson, pledging the doctor to secrecy, revealed part of the truth.

"You won't be able to play," he advised his patients, "and Kennedy must
take two days off at least."

"I've got to play, Doc," responded Swanson, "if it's on one leg; I've
got to."

It was a few minutes past noon when Swanson awoke with a start. The
nurse was in the room, moving abo