The handle of the little tin box was upright and it was the will of Providence that this was so or Westy could never have grasped it with one hand.
Indeed, it all happened so quickly that neither Baptiste nor his companion realized what had happened.
With one hand grasping the tin box close to his breast and the other on the steering gear, Westy proved to Baptiste that he could do almost as good as young Mitchell when it came to stunts.
He slowed down again—and then rushed forward with a lurch and a roar, cutting in front of the ramshackle Ford.
But Westy forgot one thing that young Mitchell had taught him. He forgot that the feat required both hands on the steering gear, for as he cut in front of it he held more tightly to the tin box than he did to the motorcycle, and as it lurched it hit a deep rut in the road and threw him bodily—into the field beyond.
The policeman picked him up a few seconds later—unconscious—but against his breast the tin box was tightly clasped.
CHAPTER XLVII—HOMEWARD BOUND
When Westy opened his eyes again he was in the Mitchell library—on the divan.
A doctor sat by him, Mr. Wilde and Rip and Billy—also the Mitchells. In the open doorway Lola and Mrs. Redmond stood smiling, then came forward.
“You’re tiptop now,” said the doctor, taking his case. “You must be made of rubber. Only stunned, that was all.”