"You can't do any good; better not," said Mr. Dyce, looking up at Miss
Taylor.
But Miss Mary continued to say, "Help me down," and she so evidently
displayed the intention of getting down without any assistance if it
weren't forthcoming, that Mr. Dyce did as he was bidden, and she was on the
spot by the time that Larry was drawn out from under the wheels and laid on
the roadside grass.
"I'm afraid he's done for, poor beggar," said one of the men.
Mr. Dyce turned Miss Mary completely around and marched her off to the
middle of the road before she knew that such summary treatment was to be
accorded her. Then she caught her breath.
"You needn't think to save me," she said, with a little gasp: "I'm--I'm
quite strong. I must go. Oh, don't stop me. Think of poor Mrs. Keep!" and
she was back in among the group of men and the frantic boys. "Send for
Doctor Fisher," she cried, kneeling down by Larry's side.
"No use--" began another man, but Hamilton Dyce cried, "Which one can run
the fastest for Doctor Fisher?"
Little Porter Knapp could, there was no doubt of that. All arms and legs
was he, and able to get over more ground a minute than any other boy of
their set, not excepting Joel Pepper. So, before Mr. Dyce had finished
speaking, he was off like a shot, leaving Miss Taylor sitting on the grass
holding Larry's poor head, while the whole crowd of men revolved around
her, nervous to do something, but not seeing their way clear to find out
what would be expedient.
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