They carried Curly, who was quite unconscious now, into the house. On a couch in the office Ruth fixed a pillow, and straightened out his injured leg.
“Isn’t there a doctor? Somebody who knows something about setting the leg?” she demanded. “If it can only be set now, while he is unconscious, he will be saved just so much extra pain.”
“Let me find somebody!” cried Nettie, who knew almost everybody in the hotel party.
She ran out upon the veranda, forgetting her slippers and silk hose for the moment, and soon came back with one of the men who had been helping to throw water against the side of the building.
“This is Dr. Coombs. I know he can help you, Ruth—and he will.”
“Boy with broken leg, heh?” said the gentleman, briefly. “Is that all the damage?” and he began to examine the unconscious Curly. “Now, you’re a cool-headed young lady,” he said to Ruth; “you and Jimson can give me a hand. Send the others out of the room. We’re going to be mighty busy here for a few minutes.”
He saw that Ruth was calm and quick. He had her get water and bandages. Mr. Jimson whittled out splints as directed. The doctor was really a veterinary surgeon, but when the setting of the broken limb was accomplished, Curly might have thanked Dr. Coombs for a very neat and workmanlike piece of work. But poor Curly remained unconscious for some time thereafter.
The flames were under control and the danger of the hotel’s catching fire was past before the boy opened his eyes. He opened them to see Ruth sitting at the foot of the couch on which he lay.
“Old Scratch!” exclaimed Curly, “don’t tell Gran, Ruth Fielding. If you do, she’ll give me whatever for busting my leg. Ooo! don’t it hurt.”
He had forgotten for the moment that he had ever left Lumberton, and Ruth soothed him as best she could.