The swim had proved most refreshing, but one was not allowed to remain in the free baths for an indefinite period, and hence it was that he found himself wandering aimlessly down Second Avenue at eleven o’clock in the morning, with nothing particular to do for the next hour.
Suddenly his attention was attracted by a small crowd gathered on a corner and he quickened his steps, in the hope of discovering something of interest.
“I bet it’s an accident,” he remarked aloud, with a brightening face. He was not at all a cruel boy, but an accident meant an excitement, and excitement was what Peter Grubb craved more than anything else in the world.
“It is an accident,” he added, as he drew nearer the scene of action; “the cars are stopped; somebody must have got run over.” And he quickened his pace to a run.
“What’s up?” he demanded breathlessly of another youth of about his own age, as he shouldered his way through the crowd.
“Kid got knocked down by a trolley car,” was the answer; “they’ve carried her into the drug store, and there’s been an ambulance call.”
Peter’s heart began to beat faster. Not that he felt any particular interest in the unfortunate “kid,” but to see some one taken off to the hospital in an ambulance was always an exciting experience, and one that could be related afterwards to a group of interested friends. So he wasted no more time in asking questions, but made his way through the open door of the drug store, round which a sympathizing crowd was hovering.
It did not take Peter long to see what had happened. They had laid the injured child on the counter, and some one was trying to stanch the blood, which flowed from a deep cut on her forehead. Her eyes were closed, and she lay very still.
“Is she killed?” Peter inquired in a rather awed whisper.
“No, we don’t think so,” answered the man to whom he put the question. “I saw it happen, and the motor-man got the brakes on just in time. She’s badly hurt, though, I’m afraid; there’s an ugly cut on her head, and she was unconscious when we picked her up.”