“Get away, will you!” broke in Ned savagely. Thrusting aside the player who had been the cause of the trouble, Ned examined the arm which already was showing the effect of the blow. “Does it hurt much, Dan?” he inquired anxiously. The young pitcher smiled faintly and did not reply, though the paleness of his face fully answered his friend’s query. “Let me rub it,” suggested Hodge. “Get some water――hot water,” added Smith, every boy being anxious to do something for the relief of Dan. “Can you go on with the game?” asked Ned. “I’ll try,” answered Dan by an effort. “Let me see if I can throw.” Taking the ball from the umpire’s hand Dan swung his arm, but quickly dropped the ball. “No use,” he said slowly. “My arm won’t work.” The members of the nine glanced helplessly at one another and then glared at Gus, the source of all the trouble. “I told you I didn’t mean to do it,” Gus growled. “I thought he saw me. We were all passing the ball――――” “Gus, do you think a dose of ipecac would help him?” said Ned in a low voice to his first-baseman. There was almost a glitter in the eyes of the young captain, he was so angry. Nor did his feeling find relief when Gus Kiggins growled, “What’s the matter with you?” But he did not reply to the question. The delay continued five minutes and then the game was resumed with Gus taking Dan’s place in the pitcher’s box, Walter going to short-stop, and Sam Ventnor playing first base. Dan, who was taken to the dressing-room to receive the attention of a physician, who was found among the spectators, in a brief time returned to the field and seated himself on the players’ bench, there to watch the game in which he was to have no further part. The glances of sympathy which were given him as he had walked in front of the grand stand on his way to the bench had not soothed his feelings and to the three substitute players who were sitting beside him he barely spoke in reply to their anxious questions. “Does your arm hurt?” asked Snell, the first substitute. “That’s a fine question,” answered Dan somewhat tartly. “What did you think? Would it make my pitching arm feel good to hit it with a ball?” “Of course. I understand,” said Snell lamely. “All I meant was to find out if you thought you’d get in the game again.” “Not this game. What’s the score? How is it going?” “The Military Academy fellows made a run last inning.” “This is the fifth inning.” “No. It’s the sixth.” “How is Gus doing?” “Pretty well. They’re hitting him some, though. There! Look at that, will you!” Snell added abruptly. “A three-bagger!” At the moment a shout that came almost with the sharpness of the report of a gun arose from the seats occupied by the friends of the academy nine. Two men were on bases when their heaviest hitter came to bat and when his long hit was made the two players before him raced home with their tallies.