“Hi, there!” he shouted; “stop that machine! Jump in, quick,” he directed Frank, and then to the man: “Boston Common—and drive for your life!”
CHAPTER IX
A GLOWING PROSPECT
“It’s ruin! All my fine plans gone for nothing! Durham, those rascals have outwitted us! They have got the lease of that place and our educational film project has tumbled to pieces like a house of cards!”
Professor Barrington came bursting out of the store building into which he had just rushed precipitately, like a man out of his senses. His spectacles hung from one ear. With one hand he clutched a bunch of his sparse hair. His hat was on awry and he looked as if he had lost his last friend.
“Hold on,” said Frank gently, as he caught hold of the speaker, who seemed about to collapse from excess of emotion. “See here, you’re all wrong. Those fellows have fallen into a trap. I’ve got something ten times better than that lease and— Help me in with him,” Frank had to appeal to the driver of the taxicab, for his charge was swaying to and fro.
The man jumped out of the machine and got their burden safely into the seat of the machine. The professor sank back among the cushions with a groan. He did not hear or was heedless of what Frank had said.
“Drive to the Parker House,” directed the latter. “He is not able to walk there.”
The doctored lemonade, his recent excitement and the shock of disappointment he had sustained, or all together, had overcome the sensitive savant. Frank supported him in the seat. When they got to the hotel he partly roused him.
“We will get to our room at once,” he suggested. “I have some good news for you.”
“Atrocious! Disreputable!” mumbled the professor, indifferent to everything but the apparent blasting of all his high ambitions. Frank managed to guide him into the lobby of the hotel and thence to the elevator. He got his charge up to their room. The professor weakly sank to a couch.