"Why--where?" he began. He didn't even know he had been hurt--not till
afterward when the pain and suffering set in.
"Easy--easy there," said little Doctor Fisher.
"Great Scott!" The young man who had pronounced him dead crammed those
hands of his deeper yet in their pockets and gave a whistle.
"Oh, Larry," said Miss Taylor gently, bending over him.
"What is it?" Larry tried to move, and felt a strong hand laid on him just
where it made any motion impossible. Beside, a great wave of pain swept him
suddenly into such astonishment as well as suffering that all he could do
was to shut his eyes and let his head sink back.
"Now, then!" Doctor Fisher glanced up to the coach-load. "All of you get
down," he said curtly, and before the women quite knew how, the pretty
gowns and hats and parasols were all descending, a gay, fluttering bevy all
chattering together.
"Miss Mary, I'll trouble you to hop up there," and a dozen hands helped her
into position on the coach. "Now, then, Mr. Dyce, and you"; he nodded over
to Harry Delafield, the little doctor did, then rapidly picked out two more
men. "Up with you, please," and quicker than it takes to tell it all, they
were in position, and Larry had been lifted gently into their laps, his
head on Miss Taylor's arm.
"Ugh!" Betty Cameron gave a worse shiver than before. "How Mary Taylor
can!" she exclaimed, with a grimace.
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