Leaving his playing togs as he had dropped them, he dashed bareheaded from the gymnasium, flinging himself into his coat as he ran. Round the corner he darted, scudded down Lake Street until the entrance to the academy yard was reached, ran panting across the yard and settled into a rapid walk when his feet were presently on the path that led across lots between Middle and High Streets.
He had made his escape none too soon, for barely was he out of sight when the third quarter ended and the Oakdale players came hurrying toward the gymnasium. They were a soiled, battered, weary-looking band, and more than one seemed to totter in his stride. In the gym they flung themselves down upon benches and blankets, some even sprawling upon the floor.
“Cripes!” groaned Sile Crane. “Them fellers sartainly made us fight. We barely held ’em.”
“If they’d had another minute they’d have scored,” sighed Harry Hopper. “They’re better trained than we are. They’re like iron. That’s what a coach does for a team.”
Two chaps were rubbing Chipper Cooper’s left ankle, which he had wrenched in a scrimmage. The smell of witch hazel and arnica filled the room.
“Look at the confounded thing,” snapped Chipper, his face contorted by grimaces of pain. “You can almost see it swell. I’ll be as lively as a toad on that bum peg.”
“If Sage hadn’t messed things up!” muttered Rodney Grant, as if speaking to himself. “What was the matter with him, anyhow?”
“Where is Sage?” asked Stone, looking around. “I don’t believe he came in from the field. Here, Shea, go bring Sage.”
“Don’t bother to send for him, captain,” he advised.
“You won’t find him out there. He’s gone.”
“I don’t know where,” said Sleuth; “but he’s gone. Here are his field clothes just as he dropped them. He didn’t even stop to put them away.”
Astonishment was plainly revealed in Stone’s face.
“I don’t understand it,” he finally said in a low tone. “I can’t see why Fred should desert us like this. What will we do if——” He checked himself abruptly.
“He’s run away! He’s quit!” cried Nelson. “What do you know about that, fellows?”
Hooker rose to the defence of his chum. “I’m dead sure Fred is sick,” he said. “There’s no other explanation for his actions. He wouldn’t acknowledge it, but he must be sick. You all know what a football enthusiast he is, and you never before saw him put up such a numb, bungling game.”