"A statement be hanged," snorted Donaldson. "Where's the kid?"
"Well," returned the newspaper man, "I 'm darned if I don't make a statement to you then; that was the quickest and nerviest stunt I 've ever seen pulled off in New York city."
"Thanks. Where 's the kid?"
The kid, with a grin from ear to ear, had kindly assumed a pose upon the radiator of the machine which had so nearly killed him for the benefit of the insatiate photographers. It was 3457.
"You!" exclaimed Donaldson, as he found himself looking into the familiar face. He lifted the boy to the ground.
"Let's get out of the crowd, kid," he whispered. "I want to see you."
He pushed his way through to the sidewalk, followed by the admiring throng, and hurried along to the nearest cab. He shoved the boy quickly into this and followed after as the photographers gave one last despairing snap.
"Drive anywhere," he ordered the driver. "Only get out of this."
He turned to the boy.
"Are you hurt?"