“Oh, yes, I guess so,” assented Jerry. “Andy’s all right if he does talk like a gasoline motor.”
“I wonder what news he has,” ventured Bob.
Ned swung the boat about, and Andy, whom my older readers will remember, got aboard. He was panting from his rapid-fire talk.
“What’s the news?” asked Bob.
“It’s about Noddy Nixon,” said Andy Rush, when he had gotten back his breath.
“Then it isn’t good news,” averred Jerry, for in the past Noddy had made much trouble for the three chums.
“No, it isn’t good news,” said Andy. “He’s hurt somewhere out West. He ran his automobile into another one, and now he’s in a hospital.”
“Well, I don’t wish Noddy any bad luck, for all he did us several mean turns,” remarked Jerry. “But he never did know how to handle a car—he was too reckless. Is he badly hurt, Andy?”
“Well, he won’t die, but it will be a good while before he’ll be well. A friend of my mother’s, who lives out West, wrote her about Noddy, knowing he used to live here.”