“I’ll attend to him. Thank you ever so much!” called Frank, as three of the boys turned their attention to the injured lad. Lanky had already started the Rocket for the landing at Columbia. The searchlight was bearing straight ahead, since it had been abandoned in that position, and Lanky could see his way.
Frank gave instructions to the others at once, with a snap like an officer, and they went to work with vim.
Just as they touched the landing at Columbia Frank heaved a sigh of relief—Fred Cunningham was showing signs of coming back to life. Frank saw the first flush and noted that he was gasping for breath.
As they landed they saw a dozen people standing on the wharf, having been attracted by the crash of the motor boat against the barge and also by the sight of the fire.
Into an automobile the boys placed Cunningham’s limp body quickly, Frank giving directions:
“Get him to the hospital! Quick! Don’t waste a minute!”
As the automobile pulled out, Frank turned, soaking wet, a laughable sight notwithstanding the seriousness of it all and the stress and tragedy of the race.
“I’m going back for the chief. You fellows want to come along?” he asked.
The question was almost unnecessary. Lanky and Paul and Ralph, weary and worn as they were, ready to drop off to sleep except for the excitement of the day and night, were ready to follow their leader. But a thought came suddenly to Frank.
“I’ll tell you, fellows. Paul and Ralph ought to stay here to take care of that fellow and see that he doesn’t get away if he revives quickly. Maybe he’s not badly hurt and he could be released from the hospital. You two fellows stay here and see that things are ready when we get back. Tell the doctor I’ll be back in an hour or so to see dad—and all that, you know. Tell mother, too, if she’s still at the hospital.”