"Amb'lance
be here in a minute. Nev' mind tryin' to move any. You want 'em to
send for some special doctor?"
"No." George's lips formed the word.
"Or to take you to some private hospital?"
"Tell them to take me," he said faintly, "to the City Hospital."
"A' right."
A smallish young man in a duster fidgeted among the crowd, explaining
and protesting, and a strident voiced girl, his companion, supported
his argument, declaring to everyone her willingness to offer testimony
in any court of law that every blessed word he said was the God's
truth.
"It's the fella that hit you," the policeman said, looking down on
George. "I guess he's right; you must of been thinkin' about somep'm'
or other. It's wunnerful the damage them little machines can do--
you'd never think it--but I guess they ain't much case ag'in this
fella that was drivin' it."
"You bet your life they ain't no case on me!" the young man in the
duster agreed, with great bitterness. He came and stood at George's
feet, addressing him heatedly: "I'm sorry fer you all right, and I
don't say I ain't.
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