“Get him out quickly!” tersely ordered Mr. Curtis. “You and Crancher look after him; you know what to do. Bob and Ranny see to the girl! I’ll take care of this man. Court, hustle for the first-aid kit; it’s under– Oh, you’ve got it! Good boy, Dale. Open it upon the bank and get out the ammonia. Then be ready with some bandages when I call for them. Frank, take one or two fellows and bring six or eight blankets here from the truck.”
Under the cool, dominating influence of the scoutmaster the situation speedily resolved itself into one of orderly method. The three patients were stretched out on blankets on the bank, and only those scouts actively interested in bringing them around were allowed in the vicinity. The others went back to the car and busied themselves with trying to right it–a rather futile undertaking, but it kept them out of the way.
The girl was the first to respond to treatment, but the older man opened his eyes not long afterward. While both were dazed by the shock, they seemed to have escaped with no more serious injuries than bruises. The chauffeur, however, was badly cut about the face and head, and Mr. Curtis himself superintended the work of Ward and Crancher in tying up and bandaging. When this was over he turned back to the other man, who was trying to get on his feet.
“Hadn’t you better lie quietly for a bit longer?” he asked quickly. “You’ve been rather badly shaken up.”
“Is Robert–all right?” asked the other, briefly, as he dropped back to the ground again.
“Practically. He’s cut about the head, but we’ve bandaged him up, and I think he’ll be all right until we can get him to a doctor.”
The man’s puzzled gaze wandered to the little group of scouts standing well to one side and then returned to Mr. Curtis’s face. “I don’t understand how you came to be on the spot so promptly,” he murmured. “Who–”
“My name is Curtis,” explained the scoutmaster, as the other paused. “I’m taking a party of scouts from Hillsgrove down to camp on Great Bay. Our truck wasn’t a hundred feet away when you skidded.”
The older man raised his eyebrows.
“Scouts!” he repeated. “Boy Scouts?” Again his glance swept the circle, taking in this time the prone figure of the chauffeur, whose head, swathed in workmanlike bandages, rested against a thin roll of blanket. “I understand,” he went on briefly. “I am very greatly indebted to you, Mr. Curtis. May I trouble you?”