“Is she much hurt? When did the message come?” panted the man.
“Just now,” Jane answered. “The doctor said her arm was broken an’ that she was pretty well shaken up an’ bruised. He didn’t send for me so much because she was in a serious condition as because her bag with all her money an’ papers was lost, an’ she was worryin’ herself sick over being without a cent, poor child. He didn’t tell her he’d sent for me. He just did it on his own responsibility. Oh, Martin, you will let me go an’ bring her back here, won’t you? Mary an’ ’Liza an’ I want to nurse her, ourselves. We can’t bear to think of her bein’ a charity patient in a hospital.”
Jane’s voice trembled with earnestness.
“Yes, you shall go, Jane,” Martin answered quickly. “We’ll both go. I’ll see right away if we can get Watford to take us in his 294 touring car. We ought to make the distance in four hours in a high-power machine.”
“Mercy, you’re not goin’ to-night?”
“I certainly am.”
“But there’s no need of that,” protested Jane. “The doctor said Lucy was gettin’ on finely, an’ he hoped she’d quiet down an’ get some sleep, which was what she needed most.”
“But I’d rather go now—right away,” Martin asserted.
“’Twould do no good,” explained the practical Jane. “We wouldn’t get to Ashbury until the middle of the night, an’ we couldn’t see Lucy. You wouldn’t want ’em to wake her up.”
“N—o.”