“Mere thanks, of course, do not express what I mean. You saved my life. I don’t believe I could have gotten out of the car alone. My legs were held down, and so was one arm. I’d have burned to death if you hadn’t been here.”
“Well, we’re glad we were here,” Jerry said. “Are you much hurt?”
“Nothing worth speaking about. Some bruises and scratches. I certainly did have a lucky escape. My name is Hobson—Samuel Hobson,” and he drew a card from his pocket, handing it to Jerry. “I was driving a bit too fast, I guess, but I was in a hurry to get the express at Wrightville. I’m on my way West, on important business, and the only way to make connections is to go to Wrightville to get the fast train. So I started in my car, intending to leave it at the garage in Wrightville. I’m afraid I’ll miss the train now.”
“Oh, I guess you’ve got time to make it,” said Jerry, with a look at his watch. “Wrightville is only three miles from here. But I’m afraid you can’t make it in your car.”
“I guess you’ve said it,” admitted Mr. Hobson, after a quick inspection. “I can’t run my car until it’s been in the repair shop. It’ll be hard to get it back on the road, too,” he went on, as he looked at the steep bank down which he had rolled in the machine. “And I must get that train!” he exclaimed anxiously.
“I reckon we can get you to the train all right in our car,” said Bob. “We’re not in any special hurry—only out for a little ride. We’ll take you to the station.”
“Surely!” added Jerry. “If you feel well enough to take the ride.”
“Oh, I’m all right!” protested Mr. Hobson. “I had presence of mind enough to get out of the way of the steering wheel as I felt myself going over. I’ll be very much obliged if you will take me to the depot. It is extremely important that I get my train for the West. But about my car—I’ll have to leave it here, I guess.”
“Nobody can run it, that’s sure,” Ned remarked. “And if you were going to leave it at the garage in Wrightville you could tell the man there to come out here and get it, and tow it in for repairs.”