Cautiously he looked round. No one was in sight; the windows at the back of the hospital that overlooked this secluded lawn had been the windows of class-rooms, and were of frosted glass. With the aid of his crutches he got up unsteadily, and then, maintaining a precarious balance with one crutch, he thrust the other one under the seat leverwise, and with an effort tipped it over backwards on to the flowerbed.
This accomplished, the Indiarubber Man looked round again to convince himself that the manoeuvre was unobserved. Reassured on this point, he lowered himself down gingerly over the seat until he was lying on his back with his legs in the air and his head in a clump of marigolds. In this attitude he seized the bell and rang it furiously, feebly waving his uninjured leg the while.
The moments passed. From his prostrate position behind the seat he was unable to obtain a view of the lawn, and stopped ringing the bell to listen. He heard a faint cry in the distance, and then the flutter of skirts. The next instant Betty was bending over him, white and breathless.
"Oh!" she cried, "how did it happen? Did the seat tip over backwards—are you hurt?" and kneeling beside him raised his unhallowed head. The Indiarubber Man closed his eyes.
"You told me to ring if I wasn't comfortable, and I wasn't a bit. I hate the smell of marigolds too. No—please don't move; I'm very comfortable now." Betty looked wildly in the direction of the house for help.
"I heard the bell," she said in a queer, breathless little voice, "and I just came out to look . . . and then I ran. I ought to have called someone. Ring the bell—I can't move you by myself. We must have assistance. How did this happen?"
The Indiarubber Man opened his eyes. "The seat tipped over backwards."
"But how?"
"It—it just tipped—as it were."
"Will you promise to lie still for one minute while I run for help—are you in pain?"