Mr. Ellsworth says that Doc ought to write the rest of this chapter, but he wouldn’t, and it’s just like him. The next thing I knew I was sitting on the lowest step and Connie Bennett was holding my head. “You’re all right,” he said, “but you got a good bump. You were only there a few seconds.”
“Did you pull me out?” I said. “Where’s Wig?”
“Doc brought him around,” he said, “he got him breathing, then it was easy. We can’t find Artie.”
Maybe it was funny, but just then I didn’t seem to be thinking about Artie. I felt my head and found I had a big bump on it. “I should worry about that,” I said. “Where’s Wig?”
Then I got up and went around the cabin to the forward deck and there were all the fellows and Wig sitting up and Doc Carson holding him and moving him, so as to keep him breathing—scout fashion.
“All righto, kid,” Doc said, kind of pleasant, “you’re a brick.”
I always thought that I was as big as he was, but he called me kid, and I didn’t care. Anyway, I couldn’t see him very good, I admit that. Because—oh, well, maybe you can understand.
“Artie’s missing,” he said. “You didn’t see anything of him in there?”
“I couldn’t see at all, hardly,” I told him.
Then Wig turned his head and looked at me and he was all white and weak looking, especially when he smiled. And he had the remains of my Silver Fox scarf, all torn, around his neck.