“It can stay here and rust, for all of me,” he declared. “I’ll never touch it again; never.”
“Shucks, you will, too,” scolded Ned. “Now you pick it up.”
So Tom roughly picked it up. Together the two boys—the injured and the sound—slowly walked across the field, with Tom watching Ned askance, as if expecting him to keel over at any instant.
Ned, however, while keeping himself well in hand, and on the lookout for any new and warning symptoms, did not feel the least discomfort from the motion.
His shoulder was numb, and only numb.
To reach the road they had to cross a railway track; and as they neared it Tom halted and cried, joyfully:
“Listen!”
A clattering rumble, around the curve, fell upon their ears.
“A train—it’s a train!” cried Tom. “You stay here and I’ll go ahead and stop it.”
“Maybe it won’t stop,” said Ned.