Now they knew what the water was for. Max plunged his handkerchief into it, opened the little sand-filled mouth and wiped it clear; the nostrils the same. Far out he pulled the small tongue. “Hold it so,” he directed Sydney, while he continued with the cleansing water.
The machine rolled up, and before it could stop, or hardly halt its speed, Max with the child in his arms sprang in, Sydney behind him carrying the basin.
“The nearest doctor,” Max called, but unnecessarily, for Billy understood, knew well which doctor lived nearest, and was already on the way.
Down the street they flew, heedless of the shouts of the irate owner of the car, while Max and Sydney worked hard to restore breath to the smothered child.
Again and again Max dipped the useful handkerchief into the basin, wiping off the little face. Gently he pressed down her chest and released the pressure in even movements.
“Why don’t you drive, Billy?” he called desperately.
Billy was driving as he never had before, using every ounce of power he could make. He too felt the wheels creep, and pumped the gasoline more recklessly, while he went hot and cold at the thought of being too late.
It was a beautiful afternoon and the streets were full of women and children, sauntering or playing in the freedom and security of the quiet residence district. In and out among them, honking and shouting, Billy wove his perilous course, praying fervently if not consciously that he might not kill one child while trying to save another.
It was not till an officer swooped down upon him from a cross street that he knew how fast he was going. In long leaps the galloping horse made losing speed beside the machine, the officer shouting raucously at Billy to stop, and waving his club with menace.
“It’s life and death!” shouted Billy, driving on still faster.