As she nodded her assent, he asked, “How did the accident happen?”
“I was to blame,” confessed Virginia, her eyes filling with tears.
“You weren’t driving the car?” he argued sympathetically and when she admitted it, “I don’t see how you can be in fault.”
“I was though, doctor.”
He gave her an enveloping professional glance. The pale face and the flood of tears fighting to break their dams did not escape him. “You are suffering from the shock of the accident. You have been under a strain and are nervous and unstrung.”
Ike considered this an appropriate moment to make public outcry. “Dat man was to blame. Ran smack into me. Lak to punch er hole in de tiah wid ’is haid. Ah gwine look fo’ er punkcher,” he assured the crowd which had assembled.
This attempt to win public favor at the expense of a semi-unconscious opponent filled the doctor with indignation. “You talk like a fool,” he informed the chauffeur. “Without inquiring into the matter I conclude that you are to blame. You help me carry this man under the trees and make him comfortable until I can call an ambulance.”
The snap judgment of the medical man apparently struck Ike as of uncontrovertible accuracy, because he prepared in silence to assist in caring for the injured until Virginia suggested,
“Why not take the man in our machine and get him to the hospital so much quicker?”
“Very good,” agreed the doctor. He eyed Ike sternly. “It’s not a question of speed now. There has been too much of that around here in my opinion.”