“Great Scott!” exclaimed Tony Larcom. “No wonder the poor fellow suffers! Look at his right arm. It must be broken.” For the first time we noticed that Fred’s arm hung limp and distorted. The shirt at the elbow was torn, and disclosed an ugly looking bruise from which the blood was slowly oozing. “He must have been kicked by the horses,” said Ray. “Here, fellows, we ought not to delay a minute, but get him into the hands of a doctor as soon as possible.” Accordingly, we lifted him as gently as the circumstances permitted, and laid him upon one of the cushioned seats of the omnibus. He made little noise while we handled him. He seemed to have fainted again with pain. We rested him upon his left side so that his right arm should lie quietly and without contact. Then Ray sat at his head, bathing his face, while I sat at his feet to hold him still and to prevent the rolling of the omnibus from jarring him. Fortunately the road was smooth, so we were able to make good time on the way home. The episode had driven everything else from our mind. Even the game and our humiliating defeat were forgotten in our solicitude for the unfortunate student who lay groaning on the seat beside us. “How did it all come about?” asked Ray. “What made him fall in that way?” “It is a perfect mystery,” answered George Ives, who had been sitting just beside Harrison. “He was sitting there quietly on the front seat, with his head in his hand. I thought he had a headache, or perhaps was feeling badly broken up over the game, but I didn’t suppose for a moment that there was anything else the matter with him. Suddenly I saw him sway from side to side unsteadily, and before I or the driver could catch him, he fell head foremost down upon the traces, and rolled under the omnibus. How he caught in that wheel I can’t imagine, but he must have been dragged several feet before we stopped.” “Has Fred been complaining of being unwell?” I asked. “Not to me,” said George. “I must say I can’t understand him to-day at all.” “I think he simply lost his head,” I answered. “It was his first game of ball. He was very anxious to do well, and became nervous. Of course this grew worse as he found himself playing badly.” “Yes; but how do you explain his tumbling over in this strange way?” asked Tony. “I suppose the fatigue of the game, and its discouraging results, may have reacted on his nerves and produced vertigo,” I answered.