“Arradale!”
There he was to have dined with Tom and Bessie Wallingham! He had forgotten them utterly. Were they still at the golf club? Possibly, and, in any event, if he could reach the club, he would be near a railroad.
“How far is Arradale?” he asked.
“Halb-miles. Und vere did you say der hurt man vas?”
“A few hundred feet back there.” Orme indicated the direction. “Can I reach Arradale by this road?”
“Next turn—rechts. I will take de man some schnapps.”
“That will be good. His friends will make it right with you.”
“Ach! Do not say so!”
The German shook his head in deprecation of the idea that he wished any return for his services. Meantime his long-legged, towheaded son had come from within and stood gaping behind his father.
“Vill you go back to der man mit me?” asked the German.