"I'll sue you for this! I'll have damages! I'm an injured man!" cried Uncle Ezra, as he put his handkerchief to his cut eye, while Dick tried to get up, but found that he could not. "By Jove! I hope my leg isn't broken!" he thought in dismay. "And the Haskell game Saturday! Whew, this is tough luck!" Once more he made an effort to get up, but fell back in a faint as a sharp pain shot through his ankle. He was conscious of a horrible fear of being disabled, as he felt some one lift his head while a girl's voice exclaimed: "Why, it's Dick Hamilton! Call a doctor, Mildred." Then Dick lost consciousness. CHAPTER XIX A GREAT STRUGGLE "Don't worry, he'll be all right presently. No, his leg isn't broken--only a slightly sprained ankle. He lost his senses because of the collision shock, as much as from the pain. He's coming around all right." Dick heard these words as if in a dream. He felt a soft hand on his head--he knew it was that of some girl, but for the life of him he could not tell who it was. He was aware of the smell of pungent drugs, and then he felt some one take hold of his ankle. He uttered a little moan of pain. Then he heard another voice saying, as he opened his eyes: "Oh, Mildred, he's conscious now." "Yes, Mabel," answered another girl, and then Dick knew who she was without looking up into the face of the young lady who hastily withdrew her hand from his head. "Miss Hanford," murmured the young millionaire, as he recognized the girl over whom he and Dutton had so nearly fought a duel in our hero's early cadet days. "Oh, I'm so glad you know me!" she exclaimed. "Mildred Adams and I were passing along the street just when that dreadful automobile crash came. It's a mercy you weren't all killed." "Indeed it is!" chimed in Miss Adams. "But Mabel kept her nerves splendidly. She lifted your head, and then she sent me for a doctor." Dick looked around to observe that he was in the rear room of a drug store, and that a man, evidently a physician, was standing by, regarding him with a professional air. "Well, young man, how do you find yourself?" asked the doctor. "Pretty well, as long as nothing is broken." "No, you're all right that way. You had a lucky escape." "How is my uncle?" asked the lad anxiously. "Only a slight cut. The drug clerk is putting some plaster on it. Shall I call him in?" "Will I be able to play football Saturday?" There was a querulous note in Dick's voice. "Humph! That's all you lads care about. As soon as you crawl through a knot hole without getting killed you want to rush off to battle. Play Saturday? Well----" The doctor paused. "I've just _got_ to!" cried Dick. "We meet Haskell--it means a lot to my team. I've got to play!" "Well, I guess we can fix you up if you wear a leather bandage on that ankle. It might be a good deal worse. I'll take another look at it."