"But my friend?" replied the boy, faintly. "His name is Mori Okuma, and he was near me when the accident occurred. Can you tell me anything of him? Is he safe?"
"Is he one of my countrymen, a youth like yourself, and clad in tweed?"
"Yes, yes."
"Well, I can relieve your anxiety," was the cheering reply. "He is working like a trooper over there among the coaches. It was he who rescued you and brought you here. Wait; I will call him."
A moment later Mori made his appearance, but how sadly changed was his usually neat appearance. His hat was gone, his clothing torn and disordered, and his face grimed with dust and dirt. He laughed cheerily, however, on seeing Nattie, and made haste to congratulate him on his escape.
"This is brave," he exclaimed. "You will soon be all right, old boy. No, don't try to get up; your arm is dislocated at the shoulder, and perfect quiet is absolutely necessary."
"But I can't lie here like a stick, Mori," groaned the lad. "What's a dislocation, anyway? It shouldn't keep a fellow upon his back."
"You had better take the doctor's advice. The relief train will start for Kobe before long, and once in a good hotel, you can move about. This is a terrible accident. Fully twenty persons have lost their lives, and as many more wounded."
"Have you seen anything of Patrick Cronin?"
"No, nothing. It is thought several bodies were carried out to sea when the water rolled back after tearing away the parapet. His may be one of them."