“There he is!” burst out Frank, and pointed to a form which four men were carrying from a wrecked car. “Mother, he is—is hurt. You had better go back and I’ll—I’ll tend to him.” Frank found he could scarcely speak, he was so agitated.
“My husband!” murmured Mrs. Hardy, and ran forward with Frank at her side. “Oh, tell me, he is not—not dead?”
“No, ma’am, he isn’t dead,” came promptly from one of the men. “He got his foot crushed, and he’s fainted, that’s all.”
“Thank Heaven it is no worse!” murmured Mrs. Hardy, and when the men laid her husband on the grass above the cut, she knelt beside him, and sent Frank down to the creek for some water with which to wash Mr. Hardy’s face, for it was covered with dust and dirt.
As Frank ran down to the creek for the water he saw something shiny lying in the grass. He picked the object up, and was surprised to learn that it was a silver spectacle case, containing a fine pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
“Somebody dropped those in the excitement,” he reasoned. “I’ll have to look for the owner later;” and he shoved the case into his pocket.
Of the four that had been hurt two were removed to the hospital and the others were taken to their homes. Mr. Hardy was carried to his residence, and there his physician and his family did all they could to make him comfortable.
“The foot is in rather bad shape,” said Doctor Basswood. “Yet I feel certain I can bring it around so you can walk on it as before. But it will take time.”
“How much time, doctor?” questioned Mr. Hardy, faintly.
“Four or five months, and perhaps longer. But that is much better than having your foot amputated.”