“What is the latest news?” asked Parker. “Phil Hardy, cuc-cuc-cuc-captain of the ’vuv-’vuv-’varsity nine----” “What about him?” asked several. “Cuc-cuc-cuc-cuc”--whistle--“can’t pup-pup-pup-play any more this sus-sus-sus-sus”--whistle--“this season!” shouted Gamp. Cries of astonishment broke from the boys. Browning seemed to awaken from the trance that was on him, and he grasped Gamp by the arm, taking hold so strongly that Joe cringed. “What’s that you say?” demanded the big fellow, fiercely. “Phil Hardy can’t play any more this season?” questioned Parker. “Did you say that?” demanded Halliday. Gamp nodded. “Dud-dud-dud-doctor said so,” he declared. “Whew!” whistled Pooler. “That knocks the backbone out of the ’varsity nine.” No one paid any attention to him, but Browning growled at Gamp. “How do you know this? Are you sure it’s straight?” “Sus-sus-Sile Blossom told me, and he is Hardy’s ch-ch-chum.” “Then it is straight, for Uncle Blossom never jokes,” said Bruce, in deep dismay. There was general consternation among the fellows gathered there at the fence. “Poor old Yale!” exclaimed Halliday, for the second time. “Poor old Yale!” again echoed Dismal Jones. “Now,” said Pooler, “it is a sure thing that Yale does not stand a show in baseball this season.” Bruce Browning turned savagely upon Pink--so savagely that Pooler was startled. “You make me sick!” growled the big fellow. “You’re always croaking! You have been stuck good and hard betting against Yale, and I hope you’ll be stuck again if you bet against her this year!” “That’s all right,” said Pooler, sullenly. “I have a right to my convictions. I’d like to see Yale win as well as anybody, but my good judgment tells me she can’t win.” “Your good judgment is not worth a hoot! It has told you she could not win before, but she has won just the same.” “Perhaps it’s not so bad,” said Parker. “Why, Hardy is in the pink of condition. Why should any doctor forbid his playing?” “He’s been having queer spells lately whenever he’s got excited and worked hard,” said Halliday. “In the Williams game, you know, he fell limp as a rag in Jeffers’ arms after making a hot run for two bases. It didn’t seem that he’d be able to get his breath again. They fanned him and turned water on him till they came near drowning him.” “That was the first time I ever saw anything out of the way with the fellow.” “What is the matter with him, anyway?” asked Pooler. “Why has the doctor ordered him not to play?” “Heart tut-tut-trouble,” explained Gamp. “He’s liable to drop dead some tut-tut-time when he exerts himself too much.” The boys looked at each other in doleful silence. The news had cast a deep gloom over them. “Who’ll be captain now?” said Halliday. “You ought to know, Parker.” “How should I know?” asked Puss. “I don’t have anything to do with the management of the team. It’s all I can do to play first base.” “Well, who do you think stands the best chance?” “Frank Merriwell.”