“Yes, we thought we heard a moan,” came from Tom.
“I’m glad you’ve stopped. I’ve got my friend back in the brush there. We was walking from Camwell to Boston when a car struck him. I guess he’s badly hurt.”
The man’s voice appeared to hold genuine regret.
“What’s the trouble with him?” asked Jack.
“Dunno. I ain’t got enough education fer that, boss. He jes’ lies there an’ groans.”
“That’s what we heard,” murmured Jack.
“That’s what you heard,” repeated the man in the road.
Then he went on in an odd, hesitating voice, as if hardly daring to ask a favor from the two well-dressed young automobilists.
“Say, guv’ners both, would you mind takin’ a look at him? Then maybe if he’s badly cracked you could git a doctor with that benzine buggy of yourn.”
“I don’t know much about surgery,” confessed Jack; “but we’ll help you out if we can. At any rate, we can carry him to the machine and take him to the doctor’s.”