“There—there!” murmured Joe between his clenched teeth to the lad he had saved. “You’re all right I guess. Will—will somebody——”
He did not finish, but turned to the conductor, who had rushed toward him on the running board, ready to relieve him of the lad’s weight. But the boy was able to look after himself now, for the vehicle was almost at a standstill, and the motorman had it under control.
“Much—much obliged to you,” the boy stammered his thanks to Joe who was slowly making his way back to where Tom awaited him. Joe did not know whether he could get there or not, passing himself along by clinging with his left hand to the successive car uprights.
“He saved your life all right,” said the conductor, who had hold of the delivery wagon lad.
“That’s what!” chimed in several other men from the street, as they crowded up around the car.
By this time the motorman had succeeded in bringing the vehicle to a full stop and Joe, fearing he might fall, for the pain was very severe, got off. Tom hurried up to him.
“Did it strain you much?” he asked eagerly.
“A little—yes; considerable I guess,” admitted Joe, making a wry face. “But it will be all right—I guess.” His right arm—the arm he hoped to use in the game on the morrow—the first game with him in the box—hung limp at his side.
Tom Davis saw and knew at once that something serious was the matter. He realized what it meant to Joe, and he lost no time in useless talk.
“You come with me!” he commanded, taking hold of Joe’s left arm.