"I say," said Clowes, helping him up, "I'm awfully sorry. Did I do it?

　　How did it happen?"Barry was engaged in making various attempts at standing on the injuredleg. The process seemed to be painful.

　　"Shall I get a stretcher or anything? Can you walk?""If you'd help me over to the house, I could manage all right. What abeastly nuisance! It wasn't your fault a bit. Only you tackled me whenI was just trying to swerve, and my ankle was all twisted."Drummond came up, carrying Barry's blazer and sweater.

　　"Hullo, Barry," he said, "what's up? You aren't crocked?""Something gone wrong with my ankle. That my blazer? Thanks. Comingover to the house? Clowes was just going to help me over."Clowes asked a Donaldson's junior, who was lurking near at hand, tofetch his blazer and carry it over to the house, and then made his waywith Drummond and the disabled Barry to Seymour's. Having arrived atthe senior day-room, they deposited the injured three-quarter in achair, and sent M'Todd, who came in at the moment, to fetch the doctor.

　　Dr Oakes was a big man with a breezy manner, the sort of doctor whohits you with the force of a sledge-hammer in the small ribs, and asksyou if you felt anything _then_. It was on this principle that heacted with regard to Barry's ankle. He seized it in both hands and gaveit a wrench.

　　"Did that hurt?" he inquired anxiously.

　　Barry turned white, and replied that it did.

　　Dr Oakes nodded wisely.

　　"Ah! H'm! Just so. 'Myes. Ah.""Is it bad?" asked Drummond, awed by these mystic utterances.

　　"My dear boy," replied the doctor, breezily, "it is always bad when onetwists one's ankle.""How long will it do me out of footer?" asked Barry.

　　"How long? How long? How long? Why, fortnight. Fortnight," said thedoctor.

　　"Then I shan't be able to play next Saturday?""Next Saturday? Next Saturday? My dear boy, if you can put your foot tothe ground by next Saturday, you may take it as evidence that the ageof miracles is not past. Next Saturday, indeed! Ha, ha."It was not altogether his fault that he treated the matter with suchbrutal levity. It was a long time since he had been at school, and hecould not quite realise what it meant to Barry not to be able to playagainst Ripton. As for Barry, he felt that he had never loathed anddetested any one so thoroughly as he loathed and detested Dr Oakes atthat moment.

　　"I don't see where the joke comes in," said Clowes, when he had gone.

　　"I bar that man.""He's a beast," said Drummond. "I can't understand why they let a toutlike that be the school doctor."Barry said nothing. He was too sore for words.

　　What Dr Oakes said to his wife that evening was: "Over at the school,my dear, this afternoon. This afternoon. Boy with a twisted ankle. Niceyoung fellow. Very much put out when I told him he could not playfootball for a fortnight. But I chaffed him, and cheered him up in notime. I cheered him up in no time, my dear.""I'm sure you did, dear," said Mrs Oakes. Which shows how differentlythe same thing may strike different people. Barry certainly did notlook as if he had been cheered up when Clowes left the study and wentover to tell Trevor that he would have to find a substitute for hisright wing three-quarter against Ripton.