.

In a flash Dick tried to get up. It took him more time than he
had expected. He clutched at one of the upright beams for support.

Half a dozen people had seen the fall. Stopping curiously, they
soon turned, hurrying toward Prescott.

Forgotten, in an instant, was the youngster's pain. His face
went white with another throbbing realization.

"The game to-morrow! This knee puts me out!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE HOUR OF TORMENTING DOUBT

"Oh, no! That mustn't be. I've got to pitch in to-morrow's game!"

Prescott ground out the words between his clenched teeth. The
consciousness of pain was again asserting itself.

"What's the matter, Prescott?" called the first passer-by to reach
him.

"Matter enough," grumbled Dick, pointing to the pole that lay
near him. "See that thing?"

"Yes. Trip over it?"

"I did. But some one thrust it between my legs as I was running
past here."

"Sho!" exclaimed another, curiously. "Now, who would want to
do that?"

"Anyone who didn't want me to pitch to-morrow's game, perhaps,"
flashed Dick, with sudden divination.

"What's this?" demanded a boy, breaking in through the small crowd
that was collecting. "Dick---you hurt?"

It didn't take Dave many seconds to understand the situation.

"I'll bet I know who did it!" he muttered, vengefully.

"Who?" spoke up one of the men.

But Dick gave a warning nudge. "Oh, well!" muttered Dave Darrin.
"We'll settle this thing all in our own good time."

"Let me have your arm, Dave," begged young Prescott. "I want
to see how well I can walk."

The young pitcher had already been experimenting, cautiously,
to see how much weight he could bear on his injured left leg.

"Take my arm on the other side," volunteered a sympathetic man
in the crowd.

Dick was about to do so, when the lights of an auto showed as
the machine came close to the curb.

"Here's a doctor," called some one.

"Which one?" asked Dick.

"Bentley."

"Good!" muttered Dave. "Dr. Bentley is medical examiner to the
High School athletic teams. Ask Dr. Bentley if he won't come
in here. Stand still, Dick, and put all the weight you can on
your sound leg."

Prescott was already doing this.

Dr. Bentley, a strong looking man of about fifty, rather short
though broad-shouldered, took a quick survey of the situation.

"One of you men help me put Prescott in the tonneau of my car,"
he directed, "and come along with me to Prescott's home. The
la