“Of course, only——” Gordon heaved a sigh of relief—“I was afraid he was dying. He—he looked so awfully!”
“Yes, didn’t he?” Louise shuddered. “He is still unconscious, but Doctor Mayrick says he will get his senses back in a little while. He must have had an awful blow on his head. Would you mind telling me just how it happened, Gordon, or are you too tired?”
He recounted the incidents of the unfortunate ride rather uncertainly. Somehow, they had got pretty much mixed up by now.
“But I think you were splendid,” said the girl warmly. “To think of stopping the trolley car was fine, Gordon. You must have been dreadfully scared and—and everything. And wasn’t it a wonder you weren’t hurt too?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I guess it would have been better if Morris had been thrown out of the car too. It was the steering wheel that kept him in, I think.”
“I don’t see how you ever thought of lifting the car up with the—that thing you spoke of,” she said admiringly. “Goodness, I’d have been so frightened I’d have just cried!”
“I guess I’d better be going home,” said Gordon.
“Yes, it must be quite late. And you haven’t had any supper, have you? I wish I’d found you here before.”
“I don’t believe I want any,” he murmured. “I—I’m mighty glad he isn’t hurt any worse. I’ll come around to-morrow if you don’t mind and see how he is.”
“Please do. Mama will want to see you, Gordon.”