“Then help a poor, broken wretch to die in peace,” pleaded Purnell.
“I’ll be back soon,” said Frank simply, deeply affected himself.
Frank acted on an impulse he could hardly control. He ran to the Haven home and roused up Darry and Bob. There was animated explanation and discussion.
Half-an-hour later, secret and stealthy as midnight marauders, the trio of friends wheeled the Haven Brothers’ delivery hand cart down the alley behind Main Street Block.
“Bet the fellow played you—bet he’s made off,” predicted Bob.
However, they found Purnell just where Frank had left him, only insensible now. They lifted him, a dead weight, into the cart. Then Bob, piloting the way, warned Frank and Darry of late pedestrians, and thus they reached Frank’s home.
“Where am I—in a hospital?” spoke Purnell weakly, arousing from his stupor an hour later.
“You are at my home,” said Frank, coming to the side of the comfortable bed where the sufferer lay.
“Oh, no! no!” panted Purnell. “Let me hide my head with shame—let me die. In your home—under the roof of the people I ruined—robbed! Heaven have pity on me!”
“Don’t think about that,” said Frank soothingly. “We have tried to make you comfortable. In the morning we will get a doctor.”