Bascomb motioned to James, who descended the stairs, and crossing the walk, stooped over the inert figure. He tried to lift the man to the car, but was unable to more than partially drag him along the pavement.
“Miss Bascomb is all right now. She fainted, and no wonder,” said Bascomb, as he joined the chauffeur. Together they placed David in the car. “Just a minute, Jimmy.” He dashed upstairs and to the bedroom.
“What was it, dearie?” Miss Ross was smoothing the girl’s forehead with a soothing hand.
“A man—in the street—we nearly ran over him.”
Her brother signaled his approval with his eyes and turned toward Miss Ross. “You’ll excuse me, but I’ll have to run up to the hospital with him. He seems to have had a fit of some kind. I’ll be back soon.”
“It’s Miss Ross’s nephew. I didn’t tell her,” he said, as he climbed into the chauffeur’s seat. “You make him as comfortable as you can, Jimmy. The hospital’s the place for him. It’s quicker if he’s hurt—besides, I didn’t have the heart to tell her, but I’ll have to when I come back.”
The car jumped forward as he spoke, and Jimmy, half supporting the sick man, remembered nothing distinctly except the hum of the engines and two long streaks of light on each side of the roadway until they slowed down at the doors of the hospital.
They waited in an anteroom while David was being examined by a corpulent and apparently disinterested individual, who finally called an attendant and gave a few brief directions.
“No fractures and apparently no internal injuries, but he’s had a close call sometime or other,” he concluded, running his fingers over the scar above David’s temple. “I’ll step out and see his friends.”
“Why, hello, Bascomb. Didn’t recognize you at first. Who is the chap?”