“Take him home, father,” exclaimed Art. “I wish you would. There’s no one at the hotel. Mebbe he’s goin’ to die.”
Without reply Mr. Trevor turned to the wheel again and, the doctor crouching at the young aviator’s side with the boy’s hand in his, it was only a few turns and Elm Street was reached.
Mrs. Trevor’s alarm at the sight of the prostrate form, was because she was sure it was Arthur. But a word of explanation turned her into an efficient emergency nurse. A few minutes later the still-groaning victim was lying in the snowy sheets of one of Mrs. Trevor’s guest beds.
Art and Alex crowded the doorway until there came a sudden order from Dr. Brown that Dr. Wells be called, and the two boys dashed away in the automobile on this errand. When the other physician had been found and carried to the Trevor home there was some news of the lad’s condition.
“There’s a bad wound in his back,” explained Mr. Trevor coming from the sick room, “and he’s lost a good deal of blood. His underclothes were saturated. His spine may be injured. There’s something the matter with his legs, too.”
Art and Alex could only retire to the porch and await developments. It was the first time either had come into such close contact with a serious accident and both were excited. In half an hour Mr. Trevor appeared; very grave in looks.
“Drive me to the circus, Arthur. You may come too, Alex,” he added.
It was discovered that the rear seat was damp with blood. The cushions were turned over and the trip to the grounds hastily made.
The traveling owners of the show were yet at the scene of the accident engaged in the task of caging the trapped tiger. Mr. Trevor ordered the machine driven to that place. The smashed aeroplane was lying where it fell. The principal owner was superintending the recovery of the tiger. His horse and light wagon stood near. There was every sign that he had forgotten even to summon a doctor to attend his injured employee.
Circus hands had brought up an empty animal cage and an animal transfer box used in shipping savage beasts. Some one had crawled halfway up the tree and made fast two heavy ropes. Then the partly rotten tree had been cut through at the base and, some holding the tree base in place, dozens of employees had eased the severed tree trunk to the ground. Those familiar with wild beasts had already further pinioned the growling tiger’s legs and, with much hauling and shouting, the bony tiger had just been drawn into the transfer crate.