“He’s one of them Boy Scouts,” remarked another, “you can tell by the suit he wears.”
“Come,” called out Tom, “you fellows had better stop talking and hurry up the doctor. Has anybody gone for him?”
“That’s all right, son; here he is now.”
And a brisk young man stepped out of an automobile that had just slowed up at the outskirts of the little crowd.
After a glance at the improvised bandage and tourniquet, the doctor nodded at Tom with a smile and went back to get more permanent apparatus out of his bag. This was quickly applied and then, after asking a few questions and learning that the woman’s house had been burnt down, he lifted her up in his arms, and carried her to the automobile.
“Here, you Scout! I want your help. Jump into the automobile and support her head as I lift her in.”
Tom instantly obeyed, and the next minute the patient’s head was resting upon his shoulder, and the doctor was driving the car to the Beverly Hospital. Once there the attendants took charge under the doctor’s orders; and, left to himself, Tom began to wonder how he could best communicate with Mr. Miller.
He decided to telephone from the hospital to the Salem Fraternity, and leave a message there; and, as he was coming out of the telephone booth, he ran across the doctor who had come from the wards to telephone himself.
“Oh! Hullo!” cried he, addressing Tom with a hearty greeting, “I was afraid you had run away, Scout; I wanted to shake hands with you and compliment you on your work. But we doctors are beginning to take good work for granted, when we see your uniform.”
Tom laughed. “I guess the good work wouldn’t stay good long,” said he, “if we were to bank on the uniform.”