"Help me!" he panted, his face pale with pain. Once more they bound Anderson, and then put Ernest's arm in rough splints.
"Well, this ends it!" said Bill gloomily. He dropped down on a bench and pressed his face in his hands.
Frank grinned. He was desperate and almost crazy with worry and despair and remorse. He had not meant to hurt Ernest badly; he thought a good crack would disturb him and he would have a chance to coax or wriggle out of the terrible trip before him. He was called to the present and his surroundings by hearing Ernest's voice.
"Ends it? Not at all! We will go right ahead."
"You can't drive with one hand," said Bill sadly.
"No, but you can and will," replied Ernest grimly.
"What?" cried Bill.
"He can't drive!" cried Frank. "It will be suicide and murder to let him try. He has never been up in a plane in his life. Don't do it; don't do it, I tell you! Don't you know anything, Bill? You will be killed sure as shooting!"
"I am not afraid," said Bill calmly.
"Well, I am!" cried Frank.