"Why, let's see," says Babe. "Oh, yes! Put a cold door key on the back of his neck."
"Or a piece of brown paper on his tongue," I adds.
The young lady shrugs her shoulders disappointed. "I've tried all that," says she, "and an ice pack, too. But it's no use. I must get him to a doctor right away. There's one about a mile down this road. Couldn't you take us?"
"Sure thing!" says Babe. "Torchy, you can hang on the back, can't you?"
"Oh, I can walk home," says I.
"No, no," says Babe, hasty. "You—you'd best come along."
So I helps load in the young lady and the claret drippin' youngster, drapes myself on the spare tires, and we're off.
"Is it little brother?" asks Babe, glancin' at the kid.
"Mine?" says the young lady. "Of course not. I'm Lucy Snell—one of the teachers at the public school back there at the cross-roads. Some of the children always insist on walking part way home with me, especially little Billy here. Usually he behaves very nicely, but today he seems to be out of luck. His nose started leaking fully half an hour ago. He must have leaked quarts and quarts, all over himself and me. You wouldn't think he could have a drop left in him. I was just about crazy when I saw you coming. There's Dr. Baker's house on the right around that next curve. And say, there's some speed to this bus of yours, Mr.—er——"
"Cutler," says Babe. "Here we are. Anything more I can do?"