“She isn’t dead! She’s breathing!”
It was harder work for Frank to adjust the rope about the man’s body, as he was very heavy, but the lad accomplished it, and the crowd above hauled the unfortunate automobilist up. Then Frank was raised from the ledge.
“Carry ’em to my house,” cried Fenn. “The doctors will soon be there if Jim hasn’t forgotten to telephone for ’em.”
On stretchers, improvised from pieces of the fence, the bodies, of which that of the girl alone seemed to contain life, were carried to Fenn’s house. The crowd followed but, at the door a constable named Darby, at Fenn’s orders, refused admittance to all save the three chums, and those who had borne the stretchers.
“The doctors will need room to work,” declared Fenn, when there were murmurs at what was his right, to exclude the mob from his home. “I’m glad mother’s out,” he said. “This would scare her into a fit.”
“The doctors are coming,” said Jim, who came into the house a moment later, after the man and young woman had been laid on beds where Fenn directed. “I telephoned to all in Darewell, but only three were home.”
“That ought to be enough,” declared Fenn. “I hope they can save their lives. There doesn’t seem to be any evidences of injuries.”
The medical men, under the direction of Dr. Fanwood, the eldest of the practitioners, made hasty examinations of the two victims of the accident.
“I think we’ll have to operate on the man,” declared Dr. Fanwood. “We’ll need several things from my office. Who can go for them?” and he looked at Fenn, whom he had doctored ever since Fenn was a baby, on the few occasions when that healthy youth needed medicine.
“We’ll go!” offered Frank, Bart and Ned at once.