Then the chauffeur found that one of his passengers had been seriously injured, and he immediately feared they might hold him responsible, because he thought it was due to his accident in driving. He sprang upon the runningboard and peered in at the crumpled little man, with fear plainly expressed in his eyes.
“Don’t stand there like a mummy!” called Mr. Dalken, “but open that door and help us lift the man out of this.”
Thus admonished, the chauffeur did as he was bidden, and, in a few moments, Mr. Alexander had been taken from the car and carefully placed upon the bad road.
“I hope, sir, the gentleman hasn’t broken his neck, sir!” whispered the driver, trembling in fear.
“If he hasn’t, it isn’t because of your careful driving!” snarled Mr. Fuzzier, the swelling beginning to rise to the size of an egg.
At this moment the man discussed sighed heavily, and in another few moments he opened his eyes and blinked dazedly at the blinding blue sky overhead. At the same time, the three men, all anxious to help their unfortunate companion, started suddenly to stoop over his prostrate form and offer assistance to him.
What must be the natural result of having two men upon opposite sides of little Mr. Alexander, unexpectedly bend far over the form between them? Mr. Dalken and the chauffeur could tell any one after that just what did happen. But the collision of the two heads seemed to do more damage to Mr. Dalken’s forehead than to that of the other man. Perhaps this was due to the fact that the chauffeur was a hardened young man, while the New Yorker was soft from luxurious living. Anyway, without going into the cause, it remained plainly evident that both men, thereafter, bore the marks of the collision. The driver’s head showed a great bluish lump, and Mr. Dalken’s eyebrow raised up and caused an enormous swelling above the eye so that it seemed impossible for the skin to stand more stretching without a break.
Mr. Alexander now sat up and stared around. He saw two men glaring at each other as though they would like to strangle each other; and the third man stood with mouth open, watching the other two. He was entirely forgotten—or to be exact, he was overlooked in this interesting scene.
“By the Great Horned Spoon! I got’a turrible smack on the head!” exclaimed Mr. Alexander, lifting a hand to feel of the injured spot.
“You’ve got more than a smack there, old man,” retorted Mr. Fuzzier, placing a hand under each arm and helping his friend to scramble to his feet. “You’ve got a lump about the size of a football, that will mar your beauty, all right!”