"That's what we'd like to know," spoke Frank. "We may find out if he doesn't die. We've no time to spare."
They lifted the unconscious form into the wagon, on the bottom of which had been spread a number of old sails.
"I'll drive," said Bob briefly. "I can get more out of Dolly than most folks. You've got to do your best now, old girl," he called to the horse. The animal pricked up her ears.
"I'll ride in back and hold his head," volunteered Frank. "Andy, you go telephone for Dr. Martin. Tell him to get to our house as soon as possible—explain why. Have him there by the time we arrive, if possible."
"Right!" cried Andy sharply, and he raced off toward the nearest telephone, there being a few of the instruments in Harbor View.
"Wa'll, I'll be jib-boomed!" exclaimed Captain Trent, as his son drove off, the horse making good time. "Them Racer boys is allers up to suthin' or other."
Bob spoke the truth when he said he could do better with Dolly than most drivers, for the steed started out at a fast pace, and kept it up until the rickety vehicle turned into the drive that led to the handsome cottage owned by Mr. Racer. Mrs. Racer hurried to the door as she heard the sound of wheels, and at the sight of Frank sitting in the wagon, holding the head of another lad in his lap, Mrs. Racer cried out:
"Oh, Frank! What has happened? Is—Is it—Andy? Is he—is he——?" she could say no more, and began crying.
"It's all right, mother!" shouted Frank heartily. "We rescued an unknown lad. Andy has gone to telephone for Dr. Martin. He ought to be here now. Tell Mary to get some hot water ready. We may need it. Lay out some blankets. Get a bed ready, mother."
Frank issued his requests as if he had been used to saving drowned persons every day. His crisp words had the effect of restoring Mrs. Racer to her usual calmness.