They ate at a little restaurant near the dock. Probably never before had the great Dr. Wright—the New York specialist on whose nod millionaires waited—dined in such a humble place. But he made no comment, nor did his sister or the nurse. It was a case of emergency, and they all recognized it.
“Is she all right?” asked Jerry of the man at the dock, as they went down, through the drizzling rain, to where the Scud lay moored.
“Right as a trivet, sir!” was the answer.
“All aboard!” called Jerry. “We’re on the last lap, now!”
“And none too soon,” murmured Dr. Wright, as he again read the note from Dr. Brown, giving the nature of the injury and the symptoms of Professor Snodgrass. “None too soon. Speed her all you can, Jerry!”
“I will; yes, sir,” was the low answer.
The motor hummed and throbbed as the Scud swung away from the pier and out into Silver River.
Would they be in time?
Over and over again the chugging motor seemed to say to Jerry: