“All right,” he said, laconically. “Hospital?”
“Guess he's hurted pretty bad,” remarked another policeman, who was a handsome athlete.
“Hospital?” inquired the first, who was a man of few words, of Allbright.
“I guess we'd better have him taken to my house. It's right here,” replied Allbright. “Then we'll call in Dr. Wilson and see how much is the matter with him. Maybe he's only stunned. The hospital is apt to be a long siege, and if there isn't any need of it—”
“His house is right here,” said the first policeman to the second, with a stage aside.
“All right,” said the second.
A boy pulled Allbright by the sleeve. “Say, I'll go for the doc,” he cried, eagerly. He was enjoying the situation keenly.
“Well,” replied Allbright, “be quick about it. Tell him there's a man badly hurt at my house.”
The boy sped like a rocket, and three more with him. They all yelled as they ran. They were street gamins of the better class, and were both sympathetic and entertained. They lived in a tenement-house near Allbright, and knew him quite well by sight.
Meantime the two policemen carried Carroll the short distance to William Allbright's house. He was quite unconscious, and it was an undertaking of considerable difficulty to carry him up the stairs, since the Allbrights lived in the second story.