“It’s my belief,” said the guard, “that the young gentleman’s leg is broke on him. That’s what the ticket-collector was after telling me at the junction any way.”
“Would you like me to cut off your sock?” said Priscilla. “The station-master’s wife would lend me a pair of scissors. She’s sure to have a pair. Almost everybody has.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Frank.
There had been trouble enough in getting the sock on over the damp table napkin. He had no wish to have it taken off again unnecessarily.
“All right,” said Priscilla, “I won’t if you’d rather not of course; but it’s the proper thing to do for a sprained ankle. Sylvia Courtney told me so and she attended a course of Ambulance lectures last term and learnt all about first aid on the battle-field. I wanted to go to those lectures frightfully, but Aunt Juliet wouldn’t let me. Rather rot I thought it at the time, but I saw afterwards that she couldn’t possibly on account of her principles.”
Frank, following Priscilla’s rapid thought with difficulty, supposed that Ambulance lectures, dealing necessarily with the human body, might be considered by some people slightly unsuitable for young girls, and that Aunt Juliet was a lady who set a high value on propriety. Priscilla offered a different explanation.
“Christian Science,” she said. “That’s Aunt Juliet’s latest. There’s always something. Can you sit on a car?”
“Oh yes,” said Frank. “If I was once up I could sit well enough.”
“Let you make your mind easy about getting up,” said the station-master. “We’ll have you on the side of the car in two twos.”
They hoisted him up, Priscilla giving advice and directions while they did so. Then she took her bicycle from a porter who held it for her.