“Will you operate as soon as you arrive?” asked Miss Payson of Dr. Wright.
“It all depends—on the patient. I fear I shall have to. It has gone rather too long already, since the accident. There is only a slight chance—but, such as it is, we must take it.”
He had spoken in a low tone, though not so low but that Jerry heard him. And the tall lad felt a sense of foreboding; but not so much on his own account. It was solely because he loved the professor, and wanted to see him spared for many years to come. For now Jerry was thoroughly convinced that there had been some trickery, and that the little scientist had not played them false.
The motor was running true and “like a sewing machine,” as Bob expressed it. He and Jerry took turns at the wheel, in looking after the machinery, and filling the oil cups. Dr. Wright sat in the cabin, with his sister and Miss Payson, talking in low tones about the coming operation, and making what plans they could in advance.
On and on they raced—a race against the clock, to save a life. Would they be in time?
There was nothing they could do—that Bob or Jerry could do—to increase the speed.
It was not like being in the auto. No advantage could be taken of the better parts of the road to make haste. All that could be done was to keep the machinery going, see that it was oiled, and steer a straight course. The extra five gallons of gasoline which they had not needed for the auto, were put aboard the Scud.
They had their dinner on the boat, and Bob was in his element as cook. The ladies praised his culinary skill, and that was enough to make Bob happy.
They passed from the river to the lake, and speeded on. Keen-eyed Jerry, at the wheel, noted point after point, land-mark after land-mark, as they passed them.