CHAPTER XIXFRED HARRISON
The driver of the omnibus gave his reins a sharp tug that brought his horses up on their haunches. They became frightened, and kicked viciously in their traces. This added to the general feeling of alarm.
There was an awful hush for a moment as we thought of the possible fate our unfortunate companion might meet from the cruel hoofs of the startled animals. Then several of us sprang hastily to the ground.
Between two of the spokes of the front wheel protruded a leg, clad in the dark blue of our ball suits, while, huddled up under the omnibus, lay the body of Fred Harrison. How he could have got into such an entangled position it is impossible to say, but it was only by a miracle that he had escaped being crushed and mangled. One more turn of the wheel would have doubtless proven fatal.
Without an instant’s delay two of us crept under the body of the omnibus, and, carefully avoiding the blows of the horses’ hoofs, drew Fred gently out, and laid him upon his side on the grass. He seemed scarcely to breathe; his face was pale and still. Raydropped on his knees, and put his hand upon the poor fellow’s breast.
“Run, get some water quick,” he said.
We turned in consternation and looked about us. Where should we go? We were on a deserted country road. There were no houses in sight to which we could apply for assistance, no stream near by from which we could procure water. We were utterly helpless and alone. The other omnibuses containing our companions had disappeared in the distance ahead of us.
“Oh! what shall we do?” I exclaimed. “Is there no way we can help the poor fellow?”
“I think he has only fainted,” said Ray, with his face close to Fred’s. “We must find something to bring him to.”
Suddenly Tony Larcom uttered a quick exclamation of relief, and leaped back into the omnibus, where he began searching under the seat for something.
“I have it,” he cried, as he joined us again, carrying in his hand a large bottle full of the raw whisky which we used to bathe bruises and sprains. “Here, use this. It is pretty bad stuff to swallow, but it will help him.”
Ray seized the bottle, and placing it to Fred’s mouth, forced his lips open. A few swallows produced an almost immediate change. Fred took a long breath, moaned once or twice, then opened his eyes.
For a moment he seemed surprised, but this expressionquickly gave way to one of pain. He uttered a sharp cry and again closed his eyes. The color had entirely forsaken his lips. Evidently he had sustained some injury of which we knew nothing. We attempted to raise him up in order to make his position more comfortable, when he gave vent to another cry.
“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 ourmind. 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.
“I hardly believe that,” said Ray. “There must be some reason. I don’t know what to think. I thought I had judged Harrison correctly when we chose him for the nine. I counted on some little nervousness, for he is a Freshman, and has had no experience on the ball field, but I did not look for such a complete demoralization as this to-day. Did any of you speak much to him during the game? Did you notice how confused his ideas seemed to be? Why, in the fourth inning, when we took the field, he started to go to third base instead of first, and only stopped when I spoke to him. Were such a thing possible, I could almost believe the fellow had been drugged.”
I had reached out at this moment to place Fred’s right arm in a more comfortable position, when my hand struck something hard which protruded partly from his inside coat pocket.
“Why, what is this?” I exclaimed, drawing it out to view.
It was a small brandy flask, half emptied.
“Jerusalem, the boy has been drinking!” cried Tony Larcom, as the whole truth of the affair suddenly dawned on him.
“Not a doubt of it,” said Frank Holland, who was a classmate of Harrison’s. “It was only last night that Fred told me that he was going to be nervous to-day, and said that he wished he could take something to strengthen him. I told him that he wouldbe only the worse for it, and so he said no more about it.”
Ray had taken the bottle from me.
“I am afraid it is true,” he said.
“No wonder he was upset,” said Tony. “He must have been fairly stupefied. What on earth possessed him to do such a thing? He knew the rule that no member of the nine should touch stimulants.”
“He has certainly made a bad mistake,” said Ray. “I wish I could have advised him in time.”
Little more was to be said. The matter seemed clear enough now, and foolish as Fred Harrison had been, we could only pity him in his present helpless condition.
We reached Belmont about six o’clock, and drove immediately to the dormitory where Fred roomed. One of our number was despatched for a doctor, while others carried the still partially unconscious student up to his room.
The doctor arrived in a few minutes, and made a hasty examination.
“The arm is not broken,” he said. “It is slightly dislocated. Two or three of you hold him tightly a moment.”
We followed his directions at once. Then the doctor planted his foot firmly against the bed, grasped the arm with both hands, bent and twisted it until we thought he would sever it from the body, and then suddenly turned it skilfully back into its proper position.
During the operation Fred had cried incessantly with pain, but when the bone had resumed its place, his muscles relaxed, and his head sank back with a long sigh of relief.
The doctor was now examining his wrist.
“There is a sprain here that will probably give him trouble for two or three weeks,” he said.
“Is there anything else to do?” I asked.
“Nothing but to make him easy,” he answered. “I will treat his arm and wrist and bind them up. Then one of you had better remain with him to attend to his wants.”
Tony Larcom, being the only one of us in his ordinary clothes, consented to stay, while Ray and I agreed to change our suits and return immediately after dinner to relieve Tony. Dick Palmer had already gone over to the telegraph office to send word to Fred’s parents, who lived at Springfield. Feeling that everything had been done to contribute to the invalid’s comfort, the rest of us took our departure, leaving Fred in the hands of Tony and the doctor.