“Come along, Ned,” said Tom one afternoon. “Let’s jump into the roadster and go up to the hospital. I want to see for myself how the poor fellow is getting along. Those ’phone calls are usually answered by the secretary, and she’s rather hazy in her reports. I want to have a talk with Doctor Sherwood himself. Nothing like going right to headquarters.”
Ned looked rather dubiously at a pile of papers on his desk.
“I’d like to,” he said, “but——”
Tom laughed, picked up Ned’s hat, jammed it on his friend’s head, and yanked him out of his office chair.
“You’ve got such winning ways, I can’t resist you,” observed Ned, surrendering with a grin.
In a few minutes they were at the hospital. In the hall they met Dr. Sherwood, who was just coming out of one of the wards. He greeted them heartily.
“I can guess what you’ve come for,” he remarked. “I wish I had more cheerful news for you about that poor fellow you brought here. But it’s proved to be a more serious case than I thought at first it would be. The fractured leg is mending all right, but his head’s in a bad way. It’s a case of brain concussion. He must have hit his head pretty hard when he dived into the tree. Most of the time he’s unconscious or semi-conscious, and his temperature stays high.”
“You don’t think he’ll die, do you?” asked Tom anxiously.
“No-o,” replied the doctor slowly, “I hardly think so. Still, you can’t tell. He’s a mighty sick man. But come along with me and you can see him.”
They followed him on tiptoe into one of the rooms. But they did not need to be so careful, for the young man with flushed face and disordered hair who lay on the cot was wholly oblivious to their presence. He was babbling in delirium, and there was no intelligence in the eyes whose restless glances passed over the visitors as though they were not there.