“Not women always and not as hard as men.”
Horatia waived the point. It was a nice gallantry, she thought. She was not ready to work anyway, just yet.
They passed a strange light half hidden in the bushes just then, and whatever else Anthony had meant to say was quite forgotten for the moment. He was suddenly alert. Without a word he went into reverse and backed up to the roadside.
“Stay where you are, Horatia,” he said briefly and decisively.
She leaned forward. He was beside the light and suddenly she saw what Anthony had seen at once. It was an overturned roadster—its tail light gleaming in the marshy grass. She saw Anthony peering around, then bending. With a leap she was beside him and he gave her a quick, appraising glance.
“When I lift,—pull.”
Amazingly she was pulling, pulling and brushing aside obstacles that felt like the overturned paraphernalia of the car. She was pulling a woman—a girl awkwardly thrown prostrate and still. And then they found the man. Anthony seemed to know exactly what to do. He was almost professional.
“We’ll leave him—it’s no use,” he said. “And carry her. Hold her in your lap and I’ll drive. We can’t waste a minute.”
The inert body of the girl hung heavily over the side of the car and Horatia’s lap.
“How far must we go?”