"With your kind assistance, noble sir." He raised himself to a sitting position as he spoke. "This is as far as I get without your aid."
Glen hardly knew how to help, though the conveyance told him that the young man was a cripple.
"How shall I help you?" he asked. "Are your legs paralyzed?"
"Worse than that, young fellow. My legs are dead and buried."
"I'm awfully sorry," said Glen, his heart stirred with sympathy. "I'm glad you have such strong arms. They certainly are alive."
"That's the way to talk about it, boy. Don't worry about what's gone. Look at what you have left. That's what I try to do, and that's why they call me Jolly Bill. Now, a big heave and I can stand on my pegs while you bring my Billy-cart up this way."
He was quite skillful about getting into his cart once Glen had him in the right position.
"Now I'll let you push me home, boy—two blocks ahead and one to your right—and meantime you may tell me the sad story of your eventful career."
"Promise that you won't give me up," said Glen.
"Whew! That sounds awfully interesting. You must be a desperate character, and that perhaps explains your peculiar mode of rapid transit. I'm so curious I promise."