They warped the craft into the landing place, did not attempt to enter the boat-house, but, instead, tied at the outside. The instant they touched Frank was on the wharf and started on a dead run for the hospital. He had no idea of the time of night or early morning, whichever it might be.
The three boys now conferred in low tones as to the duties of each, and Lanky started away for police headquarters, all unmindful of the hour of night.
Frank dashed up the steps of the hospital, and there at the head of the steps leading to the second floor stood the doctor. Behind the medical man were Mrs. Allen and Frank’s sister Helen, who had reached Columbia an hour before.
“Is he all right?” gasped Frank.
“All right, Frank. We need this stimulant badly, but we’ve held him steady while you were gone. You made a quick trip.”
“I thought we would never get back here! We had trouble.”
The doctor took the package and hurried into the room where his patient lay. Frank greeted his mother and sister with a kiss and followed close behind.
The doctor made up his mixture for the hypodermic injection, and he and the nurse administered it to Mr. Allen, who lay on the cot breathing slowly, his mouth wide open as if he were trying hard to get as much air as possible. Frank’s heart went out to his father and suffered with him and for him. Would the fight be won? Would his father survive? Had the race been a winning one?
All was silent as they stood by, the doctor intently watching the patient with the practiced eyes of the man who has stood with many close to the shadow and who has seen the battle for life won and lost many times.
It seemed they stood there looking down on the man for an interminable period, when, with a smile on his kindly face, the doctor turned and laid a hand on Frank’s shoulder and grasped Mrs. Allen’s hand.