“Andy, if you don’t cut out that kind of talk I’ll boot you one!” cried Ned, in exasperation. “Now you go get some water and something for a bandage. Take one of my shirts if you can’t find anything else. Hustle now!”
That was the best advice to give Andy. He needed something to do to take his mind off the accident.
“Is he hurt badly, do you think?” asked Ned, as he helped Jerry carry Bob to a grassy place.
“It’s hard to tell. I’ll have a look when I wash off his head. There’s a bad cut, that’s evident.”
They laid the stout lad, now sadly limp and white, on a soft place in the grass. By this time Andy had come up with the water, and some pieces of cloth, obtained by hastily tearing up the only extra shirt he had brought along for himself.
Jerry soaked a rag in water, and carefully sponged away the blood; but, as he did so, more spurted out from a long gash on the scalp.
“I guess I’d better let it alone until it coagulates, or at least until a doctor can look at it,” he said. “It will need sewing up, if I’m any judge, and we’ll have to get help for that.”
Jerry and his chums knew something of rough and ready first aid to the injured, but this was beyond their skill.
“What’ll we do?” asked Ned, rather helplessly.