"If I only had a pair of pants," wailed the helpless giant, "I'd break out." He climbed out of bed and searched the room. In his impatience he bumped his wounded head, and blood flowed afresh from under the bandages, and with a movement of his arm he smeared it over his face. The giant Swede was working himself into a fury. Every few moments he rang the bell, and a few moments before three o'clock the nurse, calm and appearing as if nothing unusual was happening, came in. "Did you ring?" she inquired. Swanson started to explode, but stood looking at her in helpless fury. "Get me my clothes," he ordered in tones that frightened the girl, trained as she was to the outbursts of patients. "Get me my clothes," he repeated. "It is against orders," she said hesitatingly. "You cannot go until the doctor"---- "Get me my clothes," he half screamed. "If my clothes aren't here in five minutes I'm going this way." The nurse, thoroughly alarmed by the fury of the big man, ran from the room, and, within five minutes she returned with another nurse to support her. "Where are my clothes?" he demanded in an awful voice. "It's against orders," said the older nurse firmly. "You cannot leave without permission from the doctor in charge." For an instant it seemed as if Swanson would forget himself and become violent. With an effort he controlled his anger and sank back upon the pillows. "All right," he said resignedly, "let me telephone to the boss and explain." "You are not going to quit, Silent?" demanded Kennedy, starting up in bed. "I'll go myself"---- The quick wink that Swanson gave him stopped the catcher's angry expostulation. "That's a good boy!" said the nurse pleasantly. "There isn't any use to fret. I'll bring you the telephone." The telephone was brought, and, when the nurse left the room Swanson called up the hotel at which they lived. "That you, Joe?" he said rapidly. "This is Silent--yes, in hospital. Send a taxi to the corner as fast as you can get it here. I'll be watching." He cut off the carriage clerk's curious questions by hanging up the receiver. "What are you going to do?" whispered Kennedy from his bed. "I'm going out of here," said Swanson. He crept out of bed, and with his face pressed against the window, watched the corner four floors below until a taxicab stopped there and waited. Then, drawing a sheet over his night gown, he opened the door cautiously. The receiving clerk had a glimpse of a ferocious looking ghost, garbed in a white sheet, and with face smeared with blood, racing down the hallway, and before her screams could bring help, Swanson had run limpingly across the street, leaped into the taxi and was shouting orders to the driver to get him to the ball park. CHAPTER XX _Hidden Foes_