‘We are going to the Infirmary,’ said the lady gently; ‘they’ll soon make you well.’
‘Can’t we go to Mary?’ said Emmeline, so feebly that the lady could not quite catch the words.
‘You shall go home as soon as ever the doctor has put your arm right,’ she promised.
After that the pain grew so bad that there was nothing for it but just to lie back on the seat and squeeze her lips tightly together so as to keep from screaming. At that moment she did not care where she was going if only she got there soon, and this dreadful jolting drive came to an end.
After a few minutes that seemed almost like as many hours the cab stopped, and then somebody came and lifted her out with strong, careful arms. She must have fainted again after that, for the next thing she knew was that she was lying on a bed in a strange room, and that a doctor was leaning over her, hurting her horribly by feeling her arm.
‘Only a simple fracture,’ he remarked cheerfully. ‘We shall soon set that to rights.’
It was all very well for the doctor to speak cheerfully, but the process of having her arm set gave Emmeline the sharpest pain she had ever known. One agonised ‘Oh!’ did burst from her, but except for that she lay quite still and quiet, only breathing harder than usual.
‘Well, you’re one of the pluckiest little things I’ve ever had to do with,’ said the doctor warmly, when he had finished his work.
‘Yes, indeed she is,’ agreed the Nurse who had helped to bind up the arm.
Emmeline gave a wan little smile. ‘One must be—game,’ she remarked. ‘Game’ was one of Micky’s words which she would never have used if she had been quite herself.