That was perhaps the quickest trip a Rutter’s Point car ever made, and almost before Gordon realized that town had been reached, and certainly before he had fully recovered from his experiences, the big yellow-sided car was coming to a stop at the foot of B Street, from where it was but two short blocks to Brentwood. The prolonged and frantic whistling had summoned a knot of curious persons to the corner as the car trundled around the curve and there were plenty of willing hands to bear the still unconscious form the remaining distance.

Gordon, not a little faint and weak, followed slowly. Someone had sped ahead and when the little throng reached the house anxious faces were already at the doorway. Gordon remained without and soon the men who had carried Morris inside returned to linger about the door and await the doctor’s verdict. The latter reached the gate a minute later, and, leaping from his buggy, hurried up the walk, his black bag swinging briskly.

There was a long wait after that. The accident was discussed in low voices by the small gathering outside and Gordon was forced to go through his story again. Presently he left the front steps and wandered around to the side of the house. From an upper window came the low mutter of voices. Near at hand was a rustic seat, placed against the wall of the screened porch, and on this Gordon subsided with a big sigh of relief. Inside the house a telephone bell rang shrilly. Footsteps hurried. The voices in the room upstairs still came indistinctly through the open window. It was pretty late, Gordon reflected, and he ought to be at home. His father would be angry with him if he was late for supper. But he didn’t want to go until he had heard whether Morris was going to get well. Meanwhile, it was fine and comfortable in the corner of the rustic seat and he would just close his eyes a minute——

Someone was shaking him gently and calling “Gordon! Wake up!” He stretched and opened his eyes. “Yes’m,” he muttered sleepily. But it couldn’t be morning, for it was almost dark and—and where was he? He sat up quickly then and gazed about him in blank surprise until his roaming glance encountered the smilingly concerned face of Louise Brent bending above him. “Oh!” he said, recollection coming to him.

“Have you been here all the time?” asked Louise. “You poor boy!”

“I—I must have fallen asleep,” admitted Gordon sheepishly. “How—how is he, Louise?”

The girl’s face went suddenly serious in the twilight. “He’s pretty badly hurt,” she said. “One leg is broken and he hurt his head horribly, Gordon.”

“Is that all?” he asked anxiously.

“They think so. Seems to me it’s quite enough, though.”

“Of course, only——” Gordon heaved a sigh of relief—“I was afraid he was dying. He—he looked so awfully!”

“Yes, didn’t he?” Louise shuddered. “He is still unconscious, but Doctor Mayrick says he will get his senses back in a little while. He must have had an awful blow on his head. Would you mind telling me just how it happened, Gordon, or are you too tired?”

He recounted the incidents of the unfortunate ride rather uncertainly. Somehow, they had got pretty much mixed up by now.

“But I think you were splendid,” said the girl warmly. “To think of stopping the trolley car was fine, Gordon. You must have been dreadfully scared and—and everything. And wasn’t it a wonder you weren’t hurt too?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I guess it would have been better if Morris had been thrown out of the car too. It was the steering wheel that kept him in, I think.”

“I don’t see how you ever thought of lifting the car up with the—that thing you spoke of,” she said admiringly. “Goodness, I’d have been so frightened I’d have just cried!”

“I guess I’d better be going home,” said Gordon.

“Yes, it must be quite late. And you haven’t had any supper, have you? I wish I’d found you here before.”

“I don’t believe I want any,” he murmured. “I—I’m mighty glad he isn’t hurt any worse. I’ll come around to-morrow if you don’t mind and see how he is.”

“Please do. Mama will want to see you, Gordon.”

“I suppose your father is pretty angry, isn’t he?” asked Gordon.

“He’s too upset and anxious now to be angry,” replied Louise. “But I suppose he will have something to say to Morris later. I felt all the time that he shouldn’t run that car. It was horrid of him to get it without letting anyone know.”

“I guess he’s got his punishment,” replied Gordon grimly. “A broken leg will keep him laid up a long time. I’m awfully sorry for him. Good-night, Louise.”

It seemed a terribly long distance to his home, although it was in reality but two blocks. His father was on the porch, reading under the electric light, when Gordon reached the steps. Down went the paper and Mr. Merrick viewed his son with cold severity.

“Well, Gordon, where have you been?” he asked.

“Over to the Point, sir. I—we——”

“I think I have told you fairly often that I do not like you to be late for your meals?”

“Yes, sir,” assented Gordon wearily.

“Exactly. It is now—hm—nearly eight o’clock. I think you had better go up to your room. You don’t deserve supper at this hour. And—hm—after this kindly give a little consideration to my wishes.”

“Yes, sir.” Gordon wanted to tell him what had happened, but he was frightfully tired and the thought of getting upstairs and into his bed was very alluring. Mr. Merrick showed that the conversation was at an end by again hiding his face behind the newspaper and Gordon went indoors and quietly climbed the stairs, rather hoping that his mother would not hear him. But she did, and came out of her room with the secrecy of a conspirator.

“Gordon, dear,” she whispered, “your father was very angry and said you were to have no supper, but I put a little something on a plate for you. It’s on your bureau. You shouldn’t stay out like this, though, dear. Your father doesn’t like it and—and it makes me worried, too.”

“Yes’m, I won’t again,” replied Gordon. “I—I’m not very hungry, though. I’m going to bed.”

“Aren’t you—don’t you feel well?” inquired Mrs. Merrick anxiously.

“Yes’m, I’m all right. I just feel sort of tired. Good-night.” He kissed her and went on up the second flight. Half-way up, though, he paused and called down in a hoarse whisper: “Thanks for the eats, ma!”

In spite of his weariness, sleep didn’t come readily. It was a hot, still night and, although his bed was drawn close to the two windows that looked out into the upper branches of the big elm, not much air penetrated to his room. He lay for a while staring out at the motionless leaves, intensely black in shadow and vividly green where the light from the big arc on the corner illumined them, reviewing the incidents of the day. He was awfully glad that Morris wasn’t dangerously hurt, grateful for his own escape from injury and sorry that Morris would have to lie abed for many weeks while his broken leg knit together again. Finally he dozed off only to awake in a terror, imagining that he was riding in an automobile that was just about to plunge down a cliff so steep and deep that the bottom was miles away! He awoke shaking and muttering and it took him several seconds to reassure himself and throw off the effects of the nightmare. After that he tossed and turned until he remembered the plate on the bureau. He got up and brought it back to bed with him, and leaned on one elbow and ate a little of the cold chicken and bread-and-butter his mother had placed on it. But he wasn’t really hungry and his appetite was soon satisfied. He put the plate on the floor beside him and settled down again. A clock downstairs struck nine and a moment later the town hall clock sounded the hour sonorously. Then the telephone in the first floor hall rang sharply and he heard his father’s chair scrape on the porch and his father’s feet across the hall.

“Hello? Yes.... No.... What say?...”

Gordon must have dozed then, for the next thing he knew someone was pushing open his bedroom door cautiously and asking if he was awake.

“Yes, sir,” answered Gordon.

Mr. Merrick closed the door and came over to the bed. “Time you were asleep, son,” he said concernedly. “Having trouble?”

“I—I’ve been asleep once, sir. Something wakened me.”

“Hm. Er—I was just talking to Mr. Brent on the telephone, Gordon.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Hm. He told me about the accident, son.”

“Yes, sir. Did he say how Morris was?”

“Doing very well, he said. Why didn’t you—hm—why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I don’t know, sir. I was sort of tired, and——”

“Brent says you carried Morris almost half a mile to the trolley, Gordon.”

“It wasn’t nearly that far. And I didn’t carry him. He was too heavy. I—I pulled him.”

“Well, the doctor says it’s a lucky thing you got him home as quick as you did. Mr. Brent is—hm—very grateful. He’s going to stop in the morning and see you.”

“He needn’t be,” murmured Gordon. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Hm. You can tell me about it in the morning. I-hm—I’m sorry I was so short with you, son. If you’d explained——”

“Yes, sir, I ought to have. It—it’s all right, dad.”

“Well, but—if you’re hungry, Gordon——”

“I’m not, sir. I—no, sir, I’m not.”

“If you are I guess you and I can forage around and find something. Sure you wouldn’t like a little bite?”

“No, sir, thank you.”

“Well—hm——” Mr. Merrick laid a hand on Gordon’s arm and pressed it. “Sorry I scolded, son. I—we—we’re proud of you, boy.”

Gordon didn’t answer. It was rather embarrassing and he was glad of the darkness.

“Good-night, Gordon.”

“Good-night, sir.”

Mr. Merrick turned away, there was a sound of cracking and crunching china and an exclamation.

“What’s this?” asked Mr. Merrick in surprise, peering down at the floor.

“It—it’s a plate, sir. Mother—that is——”

“Hm,” said Mr. Merrick, and then again “Hm!” He pushed the broken fragments under the bed. “I—hm—I can understand that you aren’t very hungry,” he said dryly. “Evidently your mother—hm—well, good-night, Gordie.”

The door closed. Gordon smiled at the black and green foliage beyond the window. It was all right about that lunch. If it wasn’t his father would never have called him Gordie.