Tom Reade, looking more like a burnt-cork minstrel in hard luck than like his usual self, sprang through the window way and followed.
“Here, you people—stand back!” roared Tom, elbowing his way along. “Dr. Furniss and his patients want room and air. Stand back!”
“It's Reade!” yelled a dozen men in delight.
“Well, what of it?” asked Tom coolly, as he followed Furniss. “Was there anyone here who expected that I'd be lost?”
“Hurrah! Where's Hazelton?”
“Who wants me?” demanded the other unrecognizable, smoke-blackened figure.
“They're both safe!”
“Oh—cut it out,” begged Tom good-humoredly. “You can't lose an engineer or even kill him. Doc, what's the report?”
“All three are alive,” replied Dr. Furniss, “but they'll need care and nursing. Here, help me place them in my car. Someone get in and ride with me—I'll need help. You, Reade!”
“No,” responded Tom with emphasis, as he looked down at his discolored self. “If the lady saw me when she opened her eyes, she'd faint again. I'd scare the kiddies into convulsions. A bath for me!”