“Yes. George had a pretty hard knock. I don’t know just how it happened. It was about five minutes before the end of the last quarter, and there was a pile-up in front of their goal. Perhaps he was kicked. Anyhow, he was senseless when we got him off. We rushed him right up here in a carriage and the doctors said it was concussion of the brain. They put him to bed and examined him and said there’d have to be an operation as the skull was fractured a little; trepanning, they call it. But they wouldn’t operate without permission of his folks. I sent another telegram then, but Mr. Connors’ wire, saying he had left, reached me a few minutes later. There was nothing to do then but wait. Half an hour ago the surgeon told me that if they didn’t operate inside an hour it might be too late. There was a pressure on the brain, it seems. They’re doing it now. There’s not much danger now, they say, but of course the poor boy will be laid up for some time. It was lucky Mr. Connors thought of getting you to bring him, Tom. If he had waited for the train he wouldn’t have got here until after ten. You must have made time, boys!”
“We did,” replied Willard with emphasis.
“I must get back,” said Mr. Chase. “As soon as the operation’s over I’ll let you know. Then you’d better get back to the Mosely House; that’s where I’m staying; and turn in. Of course, you aren’t thinking of going back to-night?”
“No, sir, I guess about all we’re thinking about is bed,” said Tom. “If you’ll let us know when he’s out of danger we’ll go along, sir. I’m awfully glad it’s no worse than it is. Your telegram sounded pretty bad, sir.”
“Things looked pretty bad when I sent it,” replied the teacher. “Well, I’ll be back in a half-hour, I guess. You boys ought to be proud of what you’ve done to-night!”
“I don’t know that I’m so proud of what we’ve done,” said Tom as Mr. Chase hurried back into the hospital, “but I’m certainly proud of what the old Ark has done!”
And he patted the wheel affectionately.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE ARK SAYS GOOD-BYE
Three days later, at exactly 1:44 in the afternoon, The Ark chugged her way decorously up to the platform at the station in Audelsville. In the front seat sat Tom and Willard, the latter rather gorgeously arrayed, as befitting one who is about to make his premier appearance at New Haven as a Yale freshman! In the tonneau reposed a suitcase adorned with a fresh, new label, bearing the inscription in a round, boyish hand, “Willard Garford Morris, New Haven, Ct.”